#way to be fucking ominous as fuck brenda

[weweredoingmushrooms]

ranting;

[desiraypark]

Ominous (Part 3)

Because the people asked for it!

Part I | Part II CHARACTERS: Adam Sackler x Brenda “Bree” Sackler CONTENT: Angst; Infidelity; Flashback; Argument; Drinking (Brief)

Adam and Bree’s Apartment (The Ritz Plaza > Virtual Tours > 2BR, 2BA)

“Good morning, Mr. Sackler.”

Adam shook the young woman’s balmy hand. She cringed, wiped it on her pants, and lifted her eyeglasses by the bridge. “I’m so sorry, my palms are all sweaty. I’m so nervous.”

Adam smiled. “That’s alright.”

She walked to the folding table behind her, grabbed a pencil and searched through a small stack of file folders. “I’ll be taking measurements for Mrs. Yang today.”

“And your name is...?”

“Oh,” she said. She placed Adam’s folder back down on the table and held out her hand again. Adam raised an eyebrow and shook it. “Brenda. Brenda Mayweather. But you can call me Bree.”

“Oh,” Bree said with a chuckle. Adam chuckled as well, taking in Bree’s heart-shaped face and the dark green lipstick that melted into her plump limps. “I already shook your hand.”

“It’s alright. Just relax. I’m just an actor,” he said.

Bree scoffed and tilted her wrist forward. She turned around and grabbed the pink measuring tape. “I’m not worried about you. It’s Peggy LuPont that I’m freaking out over.”

Adam blinked and laughed as Bree faced him and put her hand to her mouth.

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean it like--”

“I know what you mean,” Adam said. He placed his hands on Bree’s shoulders. “Relax. Take a deep breath.”

Bree breathed in through her nose, and exhaled out of her mouth. “You’re wonderful yourself, Mr. Sackler. I’ve seen some of your work.”

“Thanks, Bree,” he said. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“No, no. I’ve seen you on TV.”

Bree unraveled the measuring tape, stood on her tiptoes, and held the tape in the air. “Oh,” she said, resting her feet flat again. “I’m gonna measure your neck, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

Bree stood on her tiptoes again, and Adam lowered himself at the knees.

“No, stand straight,” she said firmly. She cleared her throat and smiled. “Please.”

Adam straightened his knees and stared down at Bree--enjoying the sight of her avoiding his gaze. She wrapped the tape measure around his neck, just under his Adam’s apple. He breathed in the light scent of lavender and lemon. Just as he���d determined what the scents were, Bree pulled away, opened Adam’s folder and scribbled something inside. 

“Are you a costume designer, too?” Adam asked. 

“Lift your arms,” Bree demanded. Adam did as he was told as she wrapped the tape around his chest.

“Please,” she said with delay. “Thanks. No, I call myself a seamstress. But...I get paid to be an assistant.”

Adam nodded. “Do you like it so far?”

“Yeah. I like Mrs. Yang. I like being surrounded by fabric...” Bree whispered a number to herself, then moved the measuring tape to Adam’s waist.

“...but?”

Bree looked up at Adam, smiled, and shook her head. “No buts. Yet.”

____________

FOUR YEARS LATER

Adam had just swallowed the last swig of bourbon in his glass when the lock turned. The sun just starting to set, Bree had ignored two phone calls and a text message during her four-hour excursion from home. Adam listened to the sound of shoes knocking against the wall--followed by the sound of the lock turning back. Then, bare feet slid across the sleek wood, bringing a glaring Bree into the living room. She flopped down on their firm green sofa and leaned back against it.

“When I was at my cousin’s wedding?” she asked after a few seconds of silence. Her face immediately began to burn.

Adam placed his drinking glass on the dining table. 

“Yes.”

Bree leaned forward and held her face in her hands. “Was she in our bed?” she asked, her voice amplified in her hands.

Adam inhaled through his nostrils, then let the air go. He rested his back against the dining chair, letting the setting sun warm his back. Suddenly, Bree lifted her head and stared into Adam’s eyes. He slowly nodded.

“...yeah.”

Bree looked down at their coffee table, letting her eyes fall wherever--on the rose-scented candle that was almost empty. She let the tears roll down her cheeks. She quickly closed her eyes again and wiped the tears away. Adam watched her chest rise and fall as her eyes stayed trained on the wall to her left. Then, she looked him in the eyes again.

“How many times?” she asked.

Adam swallowed. “Three.”

Bree nodded and looked away again. Her eyebrows lifted and she grunted with slight amusement. “Hmph. I thought it would be more than that.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this, Bree,” Adam said. He chewed nervously at his bottom lip. 

Bree shook her head and met his eyes again. “You can’t fix it.”

Adam rose from his chair, pushed it behind him with his heel, and charged toward Bree. Unable to detach herself from the sofa, she watched him make his way in front of her and fall to his knees. 

“I can. I will fix this. It’s over. I’m never gonna see her again. I’m never gonna talk to her again. I promise.” He took her hands and held them tight in his own. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Adam searched Bree’s face for...something. She was suddenly looking at a stranger--and he could see that in her eyes. He swallowed again. His eyes began to sting and water developed inside of them. 

“You can’t...” Bree started. Their wedding photo caught her attention--a framed, glossy 9x12 in the center of the console, under the television they barely watched. “You can’t fix this Adam...”

Tears fell from Bree’s eyes and she met Adam’s eyes again. His speckled face was red, his brown eyes wet. Bree fought against the blockage in her throat to speak.

“You...you cannot fix this. You...fucked...your ex...in...my bed.”

The realization of her words overwhelming her, Bree snatched her hands out of Adam’s grasp and stood up. “You have to go.”

“No,” Adam said, standing to his feet. He balled his fists, planted his feet, and shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving.”

“You think you have a choice, Adam?!” Bree shouted. “I’m not giving you one!”

“You don’t have to give me one,” Adam snapped back. The volume of his voice increased. “I’M NOT LEAVING YOU.”

“You’ve already left me!” Bree screamed. “What do you mean?! You’ve already left! Fuck you! GET OUT!”

Like a tree, Adam stood in the center of the floor, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip and shaking his head “no”. Then, Bree grabbed the pint jar on the coffee table--the red wax filling less than a quarter of it--and threw it in his direction. Adam dodged the jar, letting it hit the wall behind him. His jaw hanging low, he watched Bree sink to her knees to sob into her hands again.

“Get out...” she whimpered.

Adam walked toward the bedroom, wiping tears from his face. First, he stopped at the linen closet and pulled out a duffel bag. Then, he continued to the bedroom. He dropped various necessities into the bag from their bedroom and private bathroom--not filling it up, however. Bree’s pained sobs nipped at his flesh and tore at his soul. Soon, she fell silent. He heard the door to the guest bathroom close.

_______________

Through cloudy vision, Bree stared at the light over sink. Her neck rubbed against the painted wall behind her--the cool tile under her feet a reminder that she wasn’t dreaming. She heard the creak of his footsteps approaching the bathroom. They stopped in front of the door.

“I’m sorry, Bree,” he mumbled. Her shoulders and chest bounced as she began to cry again. 

“I love you,” he said. 

Bree heard a light jingle of the doorknob. Her heart skipped a beat, then came to a rest when she remembered that she did lock it. 

“When I get back...” Adam said softly. “Please...please let me fix this. I don’t want to lose you. I love you.”

Still, Bree said nothing. She returned her attention to the light above the bathroom sink. She listened to Adam walk away from the door. She heard him step into his shoes, open the door, close it, and lock it. She waited a few moments before she peeled herself away from the floor--her sweaty palms temporarily cooled by the tile. She wiped her hands on her pants before unlocking the door and turning the knob.

Bree dragged her body through the hallway and into the empty bedroom. She stared at her bed--the rumpled bedding, the smell of sex long gone. Then, with a growl, she snatched the blanket completely off the bed. She cried and screamed as she ripped the remaining sheets away and tossed them onto the floor--the light scene of lemon floating in the air, then quickly dissipating. Suddenly, the aroma of another woman filled her nostrils--cigarettes. Vanilla? Oranges? 

The scent--so faint, yet, so strong--sent her crashing back down to her knees. She moved every molecule in the bedroom with her anguished cry.

[kinglivv]

The Monster You Knew

Whittaker!Master x Reader

Summary: The reader wakes uo to find that the Master has burned Gallifrey.

Warnings: Genocide and angst

A/N: I was wondering why nobody's talking about how (technically) w!master burned Gallifrey. Also this is loosely based off the scene from Perrier's Bounty where Brenda (Jodie) shoots the bad guy.

The day you realise the Master is a monster is a very cold day indeed.

You knew she was a killer - that was something you'd known from the get-go, but this was crossing a line you didn't even know you'd drawn.

She'd never taken you to Gallifrey before - in her last regeneration, she'd showed you pictures, and you'd seen traces of memories of it in her head, but you'd never actually been there. She'd always refused to take you, up until she regenerated into this form.

It was one of the first things she'd done, after you'd taught her how to curl her hair and she'd picked herself out a nice new suit. She had only just escaped a rather traumatising experience in the vault with the Doctor, and you were curious to see how different this regeneration was going to be. Had the Doctor actually managed to change her?

You land on Gallifrey, high up in the hills where there's the most extrodinairy view of the Panopticon. When you had stepped out onto the orange sand and gazed up at the red sky, you had felt her arms incircled your waist and her head rest on your shoulder. "Home sweet home." She had breathed into your ear, and you had smiled, sinking into her embrace. You were beginning to like this regeneration.

Gallifrey felt euphoric, and you'd fallen asleep that night with a pleasant buzzing in your veins, knowing a such a beautiful world lay right outside your doors.

It all comes crashing down the next morning though.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the undisturbed duvet on her side of the bed, as though she had never actually slept there at all. You sit up, letting the warm blankets fall off you. Exposed to the cool air, the TARDIS feels cold and strange and wrong.

The cloister bell chimes ominously as you tug on a hoodie over your pajamas and step into your slippers. Shivering a bit, you set off towards the console room, wondering if the Master had simply gotten carried away with her repairs and forgotten to come to bed.

You reach your destination to find that in fact, she isn't there. You make your way over to the doors, guessing that she might just be outside enjoying the view of her home.

Your hand goes to the handle, gently pushing it open. You had barely gotten it ajar before there's the most almighty bang from the other side, and you jump out of your skin, slamming it shut again.

It's a gunshot - you'd heard enough to know that. The question was, who had fired it? More importantly, was it being fired at the Master?

When no more come, you slowly push the door, letting it creak open to reveal the scene beyond it.

You've moved, is the first thing you realise. No longer are you parked far up in the hills, you're now in the centre of the city, standing in the middle of a street.

What's more concerning is the Master's current position.

Her new dark suit is stained with dry, browning blood, and her usually neat hair is a mess of tangles and knots. Her mascara is smudged all over her eyes, in a way that you would usually consider beautiful if it weren't for the fact that she currently had a gun in her hand, still aimed at the body on the floor.

"What the fuck did you do?" You yell at her, running to what you can only presume is a dying timelord.

It's a girl. She's young, not much older than you are, and her red robes swamp her tiny body, blood already dampening them. Gallifreyan blood looks a lot redder than human blood, and you feel sick as you suddenly realise that that's what's all over the Master's clothes. The girl's eyes are shut, her skin already paleing, and you search friantically for a pulse.

"I did it," The Master says, though she sounds uncharacteristically detached and disconnected. "I killed them all. All in one night."

"You what?" You ask angrily, giving up on the now long gone timelord to stand and turn to look at the Master.

"They lied," The Master replies simply. She doesn't sound like she usually does after she's killed someone. The smugness and adrenaline is absent in her tone, replaced with a warped distance. "I went into the matrix and they lied and I killed them all."

She hasn't let go of the gun, still gripped in her outstreched hands, pointed at her latest kill. Slowly you reach out, hand resting on the gun. After a second, she lowers it, dropping it to the ground, and you kick it away before stepping forward.

"Master," You say sternly. "Master, look at me."

She doesn't comply, eyes still glued to the body. Your hands reach up to cup her face, tilting it towards you. Wide hazel eyes meet yours, dark make-up smeared underneath them. You wonder if it was because she was crying or laughing.

"Y/N." She says, sounding as though she's only just realised you're here.

"Master," You repeat. "How many have you killed?"

"All of them," She says in a way that seems like she's only just realising herself. Maybe she is. "Everyone of them."

"In the city?"

"On the planet."

You stomach rolls at the confirmation that she's just slaughtered her own species, and your hands fall away from her face in disgust.

"You killed your own race?" You practically spit.

"They lied-"

"Was that the plan all along?" You accuse. "Take me on a trip to your home so you can raze it to the ground while I'm asleep?" You step backwards, watching as the realisation creeps into her eyes. "Did you - did you bomb them while I was in your bed? Did you burn them while-"

To your utter horror, tears well in her eyes and her breath begins to come in short gasps, hiccuping as tears roll down her cheeks.

"Master?" You ask in an attempt to snap her out of it.

"Fuck," She breathes, and you take her hands which are clenching in and out of fists, bringing them up between you two, trying to gound her. You're not sure if she's having a panic attack - you're not even sure if she understands what's just happened.

"Baby," You say softly. "It's okay, it's okay, please look at me."

"Y/N-"

You tug her in, allowing her to press her face into your neck as you hold her to you as tightly impossible.

You gaze up at the orange sky as both of you crumple to the dusty floor, surrounded by the fire and the blood. The Master cries into your neck, her hands clenched in your hoodie, and you begin to wonder if you even want to be here anymore.

Taglist: @truthbehindthemysteries @queerconfusionthings @xenteaart @actuallyanita @ateliefloresdaprimavera @persephonehemingway @fabulous-jj-style

[writingsbychlo]

daffodils | thomas

word count; 16,344

summary; thomas fucks up, and spends a long time paying for it.

notes; this is like 15k words of pure angst. go ahead and enjoy it, you angsty little heartbreakers.

warnings; references to death, PTSD, injuries and gore, references to cheating.

“And then they were kissing. Something exploded within his chest burning away the tension and confusion and fear. Burning away the hurt of seconds earlier. For a moment, it felt like nothing mattered anymore. Like nothing would ever matter again.”

His lips moved against hers, her hands holding the back of his head, fingers weaving through the soft chocolate locks the same way you would, and the scene brought bile to your throat. The loud sound of choppers in the air sounded around you and the two snapped apart, glancing back as relief filled their faces. 

It took effort, but they hauled themselves to their feet, the members on board with you scrabbling into action as you reversed into the building. The moment the seal on the door broke, thick and heavy smoke began filtering into the craft, choking you all, and blurring your vision. Loud sounding of screams, the screeching of bending metal and the roaring of flames filling what had moments prior been quiet beeps and mumbles of ideas between friends, accompanied by Newt’s soft groaning in the corner.

The two neared, Thomas’ hand clutched around his middle as blood seeped from between his fingers, your throat tightening as you looked him over, from his torn clothes to his blood and dirt-stained skin, up to his face, and his gaze was already looking for yours.

You glanced away, honey eyes barely being given a chance to find yours for even a split second and you swallowed thickly, suppressing the urge to dry heave. Tears burned at your eyes, a mixture of smoke in the air and emotions filling you, but it didn’t stop you from walking to the edge of the platform lowering, Teresa’s shoulders under Thomas’ arm as she all but dragged him towards your craft.

Buildings were collapsing around you, blood leaking from the graze across your shoulder, clothes stained, skin burnt and finally, you were within sight of the end of it all. Minho’s hand lay out beside you, reaching as far as he could alongside Brenda, Thomas’s fingers barely brushing against them before the building jolted, dragging him away. 

Your fingers scrunched in the material of Minho’s shirt, his eyes dragging to you, only to follow your gaze. The closest building, looming over the one you hovered beside was falling apart. Chunks of concrete and scaffolding falling to the ground, flames licking higher into the sky and it groaned loudly, the pressure of supporting itself becoming too much. 

“Hurry!” The scream of the word fell from your lips before you could stop it, throat raw and sore from the sound, and another loud groan sounded, the building tipping ominously towards you all. Her fingers looped around his waist, throwing him with all her might onto the platform and you couldn’t help the breath of relief that left your lips as he landed on the metal roughly, a groan spilling from his lips and you hurried over, kneeling beside him to place pressure on the wound. 

You let your head tilt up, hand reaching out to Teresa as she reached out to you, a forgiving smile on your lips as you nodded to her, her eyes tearing up as you finally gave her the forgiveness she deserved. She backed up, preparing herself for the run forwards to jump, when a loud whine cut through the air, the sound piercing, and the entirety of the building’s top half was tumbling towards the rooftop the girl stood on, your eyes widening as you followed it.

Turning back to her, you lunged forwards as her hand lowered, your body leaving the craft as you lurched in her direction. Your skin burnt as your hand plunged through flames, her hands now by her sides and a sad smile on her lips, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you watched her cry. The moment seemed to be in slow motion, hands wrapping around your ankles as you fell over the side, holding you tightly in their grasp, your fingers extended towards your friend as the concrete around her began to fall away.

The tips of your fingers brushed against her wrist, trying to clamp around it as you hung onto her. Her hand twisted in your grip, and you desperately tried to hold onto her. Your other hand reach down, fractionally too late as you blinked away the burning of smoke in your vision, your eyes opening to the sight of the stonework beneath her feet crumbling, her body slipping into the flames as she fell.

A scream left your lips, your fingers catching on the loose string around her wrist, snapping away as she fell from your grasp into the abyss. You stared after her, eyes locked on hers as she smiled, her eyes telling you it was okay, but the aching in every inch of your body, the shattering in your heart, was telling you it wasn’t. Debris and rubble flew up from the mess, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Your world was shattering around you, your mind reeling and your body went limp, hanging over the edge. 

Fingers clawed at your legs, nails scraping at your skin as they tried to pull you back inside, grasp loosening and the voices blurred into non-existence. Pain radiates along your body, the heat of the fire still singing your skin as metal and ash flew through the air around you, whipping and cutting at your skin. You pulled away from the building, your eyes locked onto the patch your friend had stood only seconds prior, now engulfed by flames and smoke, and it wasn’t until you lifted above the ash level, that your mind cleared. 

The platform door below you was tilting up, and your body slid along the cold metal until you were sealed inside, your friends panicking as they rushed around you. Minho crouched beside Thomas, hands holding rapidly staining rags to the wound on his chest. Your fingers twitched, eyes glancing down to the small silver charm clasped in your palm, black string that frayed at each end where it had snapped hung from your grasp.

You gaped, unsure of what to say or do, and a pair of weak hands cupped your face, dragging your blurred and fading vision back up to meet hers. Brenda squatted before you, and you shoved aimlessly at her hands, pushing the people away from you as you choked up, salty tears burning at your eyes and you blinked it away, allowing the tears to finally roll down your cheeks. 

You rolled forwards, a cry leaving your lips as pain seared along your body, jolting from your stomach and you became acutely aware of the aching, burning sensation at your core. Your fingers, shaking violently, left the floor, your other arm buckling under your weight as you tried to hold yourself up, trailed along yourself to your stomach. Your fingers wrapped around cold metal, protruding from your stomach as you followed it along, torn skin and sensitive flesh surrounding it, and you rose your fingers to your face, blood coating the digits and rolling down in a messy line down the back of your hand. 

A large, warm hand found your shoulder, rolling you back as you gasped and spluttered, coughing to clear your throat of sobs, and you looked up. The face of a friend you had thought lost a lifetime ago filling your vision, and you smiled up at him, the world around you becoming hazy.

Hands pressed down roughly at your stomach, your back arching as a scream tore from your lips, your mind burning and it felt as though every nerve in your body was on fire. You grasped at the hand cupping your cheek, eyes finding his once again as you tried to ignore the churning feeling in your stomach, the metal shifting. Nimble fingers locked around it, a pile of rags at the ready and your head lolled to the side, catching sight of a pair of dark brown eyes, his gaze flickering between you and the honey eyed man beneath his hands.

His fingers, bloodied and dirty were stretched out in your direction but his head was lolled to the side, the sweet relief of unconsciousness having claimed him. Your hands forming fists by your sides as your eyes clamped shut, squeezed as tightly closed as they would go. The metal twisted, shifting against your skin and being torn from your body as the intruding object was removed. A coldness swept into the wound, the same coldness filling your body and washing a layer of calm over you. 

Your frantic panting became laboured but slow breaths, and your mind spun. You could barely keep your eyes open at this point, barely feel the rough pressure on your abdomen that now felt more like a light pat, and the hand on your cheek seemed to slip away. Your gaze was in and out of focus, and your head tilted to the side, finding the floor beneath it, before being roughly dragged up to gaze into the green eyes of the boy leaning over you. 

“Stay with me, shorty. Don’t you dare start letting go now. I didn’t just drag you back into this thing for nothing, you hear me? I just got you back, don’t you dare fucking go!” The words were shouted, and both his hands now held your face, and a soft smile curled at your lips.

Reaching your hand up, he tilted his cheek into it, blood smearing across pale white skin from your grasp but he raised his own hand, holding your cold and clammy palm to his face. “S’okay Gall. Doesn’t hurt no’more.” Your words were slurred and his eyes widened as you spoke, a content sigh leaving your lips that only worried him further. “M’so glad I got to see you again. O’more time. M’ missed you.” It was getting harder for you now, your throat filling with a hot, coppery substance, not that it was any mystery as to what it was. You wretched to the side, coughing to clear it as blood splattered across the floor, dribbling along your cheek and the taste of copper filled your mouth. 

“It’s not one more time. There’s going to be plenty more times. Because you’re gonna’ hang on, do you hear me? HANG. ON!” You patted his cheek, the muscle now too much effort to hold up and you were too weak, letting it slip to land beside you with a loud thud, but no pain was felt, your body colder and weightless now.

“I think m’ tired o’ fighting now. I just want t’ rest. C’n hold t’ Teresa..-” your words were fading, blood once again filling your mouth as you coughed, desperately trying to drag air into your lungs but you felt like you were slipping, drowning, unable to take a breath. “Teresa. I f-failed her, can’t hold o’ now. M’ done fightin’. M’ done hurtin’..-” breath was no longer coming to you and your vision speckled, eyes rolling back as every last bit of tension left your body, the shouting and hollers around you fading into silence. “M’ ready t’ rest.. now.”

With that, your world was taken by silence, darkness enveloping your vision and the thoughts in your mind cleared, until nothing but empty blackness filled in. 

It was with a painful jolt that Thomas awoke, hand coming to clutch at his chest as he panted for breath. The air he dragged into his lungs was raw and cool, a breeze sweeping through the room. It wasn’t the stifling heat he was used to from the scorch, but a comfortable heat, despite the night beginning to roll in. 

Soft pinks and oranges decorate the room as the sun began to set, the light fading and he forced himself to sit up, his bare feet hitting the cool ground beneath, toes flexing as the dust and sand shifted across his skin. Clean skin, and fresh clothes, a feeling he knew he could get used to. There was nobody by his bedside when he woke up, a chair had been pulled up, another across the room, so clearly someone had been visiting him, but he had hoped to awake and find a hand clasped in his, your fingers in his hair or your body curled up with him, and yet, there was no sign of you anywhere within the room.

With a deep sigh, he forced himself onto his feet, taking slow steps on shaky legs towards the entrance. His hand clutched at his stomach, and his other swept the light cloth blocking the door out of the way, the sights of people buzzing around, wide smiles on their faces and chatting to one another. Nobody was in a rush, nobody was panicking. Some were just sitting down to watch the sunset, some were strolling on by, and as he stepped out, he received a few smiles, and the occasional wave. He heard his friend before he saw him, the laugh shaking through his body and Thomas’ jaw dropped, watching the dirty blonde head of hair appear over the pathway top, Minho at his side. 

Their eyes connected, and their path deviated, moving towards the boy as he stood there in shock, hand clasped to his torso. Newt and Minho quickly made their way over, and Thomas all but collapsed into his friend’s arms, who released a breathy laugh and held onto him.

“Alright mate, alright. You’re choking the life outta’ me.” He joked, and Thomas pulled back, a scowl on his lips. 

“You don’t get to make jokes like that. I think you’ve had enough near-death experiences for one lifetime. I think we all have.” His eyes lined with tears, and he quickly shifted to hug Minho, before his fingers danced up along his chest, playing absentmindedly with the patch on his chest, a scar forming beneath it. 

“Don’t pick at it, mate. You’ll tear it open.” Newt sighed, snatching at his wrists and Thomas’ eyebrows furrowed, the urge to scratch at it overwhelming. “It’s not too bad, didn’t go too deep and has been healing nicely. Brenda’s been taking care of it, changing your bandages every coupla’ days, but you can take of that now.” The blonde rubbed a hand over his face, scratching at the back of his neck and his frown only deepened at his friend’s remarks.

“What? (Y/N)’s not been the one loo-” His words were cut off, as a shrill cry echoed along the beaches, the screams ringing loud and yet no one seemed to flinch. A few had pitiful looks on their faces, but nobody made too much of an effort, save for Minho and Newt, who were turning and jogging towards a hut further up the shore.

“Tommy, stay here!” The comment was thrown over the blond’s shoulder, and Thomas’ eyebrows furrowed, his lips parted slightly in shock at the absurd comment. “Seriously, Tommy, don’t come.”

The second scream wrenched at his heart, and confirmed his suspicions. He knew that scream, he’d heard it exactly three times in his life, and he hated the memory of every single one of them. The first time, had been as he held you in his arms, and you fought against him as you watched life slip from Gally’s eyes. He hadn’t been fond of the boy, but when he’d first arrived in the Glade all that time ago and been shoved to the ground by the taller boy, it was your hand on both their chests to calm them down, and to his great surprise, Gally had nothing but a small scowl to offer you, before turning his back to the maze with a scoff. He’d soon learned that the two of you were the closest of friends. How? He had no idea, but he’d watched you tear at his arm trying to reach your friend as he died, only to sob moments later while holding Chuck’s head in your lap.

The second time he had heard it, was when Minho was dragged away, unconscious as you cursed and screamed at the men, at WCKD, at anyone you could think of, tears streaming down your face. After that, you’d hardened, and he was proud of the woman you had become, fighting to get your friend back.

The final time he had heard that scream was the only truly clear memory he had of ever leaving that rooftop. The scream that had torn from you had ripped him from his fading consciousness long enough to watch your body all but dive from the craft, Gally’s hand wrapping around your ankle as Minho caught his wrist to hold him steady, and Thomas willed every inch of his body to up and drag you back inside, but the fatigue washing over him quickly rendered him out cold.

He knew it was you, and the sound was chilling, unrelenting as you yelled out, and he followed after his friends, quashing the dull and throbbing pain in his chest as he sprinted past them in that direction, ignoring their shouts behind him as he found the door. It was open, your whimpers and pleas ringing in his ears, making him snap into action jumping forwards and taking your face in his hands. His thumbs soothed over your cheeks, skin inflamed and red, but wet with tears and your eyes screwed shut. 

He shushed you quietly, your desperate breathing evening out until red and puffy eyes fluttered open. They were calm, only for a second, before they narrowed at him, your body inching up the bed quickly as you shoved his hands from your face. Thomas’ eyebrows furrowed as he watched you, teeth bared and rage-filled gaze locked on him. “Get away from me!” The words were shouted, loudly, piercing his heart and he reached out for you again. 

“Baby, I-”

“Get out! Get away from me! Get- Get out! I don’t want you here, get out!” You pushed yourself up against the wall in the corner of the bed, knees pulling up to your chest and your toes curled into the sheets. Your hands were in your hair, gripping and pulling as you struggled to breathe once again. Tears were streaming down your face, skin beginning to flush red as you gasped, trying to suck in a breath.

“A-Are you having a panic attack? Baby, please let me help!” He knelt on the edge of the bed, leaning towards you which only enhanced your state of fear, and he backed away quickly, hands raised up in the air as worry and pain struck at him. A hand on his shoulder pulled him back, Minho backing him away from you as Newt crawled up towards you on the bed. He expected the same reaction to be given, but instead, your hands reached out, latching into the shirt of the blond boy and allowing him to pull you close. Your nose tucked into his neck, his hands holding you tightly as one wove through your hair, shushing you soothingly as your crying died down until you were merely sniffling against his skin. 

You shifted, your legs swinging across his lap as your heart rate calmed, your eyes closing as you fell back to sleep, a warm hand rubbing over your calf gently as the other ran along your back, his humming keeping you content as silence once again took over the room. Thomas was practically fuming, his hands shaking and Minho patted his chest lightly before making his way over to where you were, sitting on the edge of the bed and helping the blonde to ease you back down onto the mattress, tucking you in securely. 

It wasn’t until they had left, the door shut that Thomas turned to Newt, eyes blazing with anger and he resisted the urge to lunge forward towards him. “What the fuck was that, Newt?”

“I told you not to come, and you ran up here without listening.” The Brit brushed him off, waving a hand in his direction and turning, beginning his walk away from the cabin. 

“Tha- I mean- It’s (Y/N)!” He shouted, raising his arms above his head, wincing as he pulled at the wound on his chest slightly. 

“Yeah, and she needed to calm down, not get angrier!” Newt shook his head, showing he was done with this conversation, hands shoved in his pockets as he stomped away quickly, deviating from the pathway and down onto the sands of the beach. He turned to Minho, hands still raised in the air as his runner friend sighed, pinching his nose. 

“You really don’t get it, huh? I love you, man, but your little rooftop kiss was a shitty move.” Thomas’ eyebrows furrowed, and he fumbled for words, barely forming a ‘what?’ as Minho just shook his head. “You don’t remember? Right as we pulled up to save your ass, you had your tongue in Teresa’s mouth. How much do you remember?” 

He thought on it, his heart sinking and stomach twisting as he remembered the moment, the haze on his mind clearing. She had nuzzled into the top of his head, the same way you always did, fingers scratching at his scalp to calm him, weaving through his matted hair like you used to when he’d find his way to your bed after a hard day. He was woozy, blood loss making him weak and all he could think about was the soft peace as he pushed it all away, leaning up for a kiss the same way he would with you. He cringed, visibly, hand clutching at his stomach as nausea fell over him in hurtling waves.

“Oh my God..” The words were a whisper and he choked on his breath, eyes flicking between Minho and the cabin in which you resided. “And she.. she saw that? She.. um..”

“Dude, she illustrated that whole thing. She was ready to jump out onto that roof to be with you and you were playing tonsil hockey with Teresa. She.. Teresa.. She didn’t make it.” Minho sighed, his eyes finding the ground. “(Y/N) had her hands on her wrist, she had a hold of her, but she didn’t. Her grip wasn’t tight enough before the floor fell through. She relives that moment every night, man. She blames herself for everything. You’re a big part of that pain, she hasn’t been able to see you since it happened.” The words winded him, like a punch to the gut and he let himself be led away, back to his own bed where Brenda soon brought him food.

The meal sat untouched for hours, Thomas pacing the room, wringing his hands together, tugging at his hair. He didn’t want to see anyone, he didn’t want to go to the bonfire and he didn’t want to eat. He wanted to hold you, he wanted to feel your lips on his and have your smile light up the room. The idea that he may never get any of those things again, and it was his fault, stabbed at him in ways he couldn't ignore.

He felt like his heart was breaking, as though someone had reached in, gangly fingers wrapping around the organ and squeezing at it. He’d rubbed his eyes more times than he could count, red-rimmed and puffy as he sniffed, barely keeping his tears at bay. His fingernails had been all but bitten off and his knuckles hurt from the intense grip he had, fists formed by his sides for hours on end. Quiet had long since fallen over Paradise, not that it felt much like a paradise to him without you by his side, fingers laced through his. It was torture, being so close to you but not being able to have you. 

The warm summer breeze washing over the land had become cool and chilly, but it didn’t stop Thomas from wandering the length of his room, hand running through his hair for the thousandth time that night. He finally sat down, knees and feet aching from hours of pacing while deep in thought, before he finally decided to take a break. It was just as his back hit the mattress beneath him that your shout sounded loudly, and he shot up straight. 

There was no more to follow, and for a second, he thought he’d imagined it, with all the thinking on the situation he’d been doing, all that plagued his mind being you. He was ready to brush it off, when a louder and sharper one rang out in the night air, and he was on his feet in seconds, tugging his shoes on and running from the room, more screams sounding and he caught sight of Newt hobbling up the pathway as fast as he could.

He fell into step beside his friend, a warning glare being shot his way by the blonde but he knew there was a pleading look on his own face, one that just spelled out how much he was begging to be there. The pair stopped in front of the little condo, screams raking the air and he was sure the door almost trembled as you did. He swung it open, the bindings of sticks and twigs bouncing off of the inner walls as his eyes honed in on your figure. You were writhing under the sheets, fabric twisting around your arms and legs as your fingers ripped at the sheets.

Your back was arched as you let out another scream, the sounds rattling his soul and Newt shot forwards, but Thomas couldn’t move, his feet refusing to carry him across the threshold and his hands braced himself on the sides of the door, instead, he just watched Newt do the job he should be doing. “Come on, love, wake up.” His hands were gripping your shoulders, shaking you, and you twisted at a terrible angle, arms tensing as your legs kicked and you squirmed. A weak cry sounded from you, one that shattered any last remnants of his heart as he watched you wake up, hands coming up to grip at Newt’s hand, the boy leaning over you and sighing in relief, gently kissing your forehead and brushing back the sweaty hair that was matted there. 

“Newt.. I saw her again.” Tears still flowed down your face and you cried out, clutching at your abdomen and Newt’s gaze flicked down to it. He sat beside you, fingers pulling at the hem of your top. You held your middle tightly, shifting consistently in his grip. Newt held you as you wiggled, your lip clenched between your teeth, eyes still watering. Thomas was pushed aside as Gally entered the room, tugging a top on over his head as he struggled to get his arms through the holes in his tired state.

He reached out, a hand smoothing over your head as he leaned over, placing a kiss to your crown and shushing you. The boys moved, laying you back down in your bed as you moaned, putting pressure on your stomach once again and the boys looked between each other. Thomas hadn’t realised he was crying until Minho patted him on the back loosely, wind washing over his wet cheeks. “What’s wrong? Is it..?” You shook your head hastily, wiping at your cheeks and shuffling further under your covers.

“(Y/N)..” Gally eased in, tugging at the edge of the sheets but you held onto them tightly, tugging them further up your body. 

“I’m fine. It’s fine. Totally okay.. you can all go, I am absolut- Gally!” You pouted as the boy pulled away the covers and Newt side beside you, lips pursed. Thomas was confused, he had no idea what was going on but the sickening feeling in his stomach told him he didn’t really want to know.

“Love, you need to let me take a look.” He murmured, and you weakly and hesitantly nodded, letting him pull up the edge of your top, and you bent to look at it, a cry falling from your lips as you did. White bandages were wrapped around your waist, blood seeping into them as he watched the fresh red stain expanding, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. He didn’t even know you were injured, but with blood pouring from you that quickly, he knew it was bad. The collective hiss that sounded among the other men only confirmed his doubts and he sighed, all eyes landing on him. 

“What are y- why.. why are you here? Why is he here? Go away! Get out! I don’t want you here! Go away!” You lashed out at him, wound tearing awkwardly as more blood filled into the bandages and he flinched at your actions, swallowing on a dry throat and wiping his cheeks.

“Tommy, why don’t you go and get Brenda. We’re gonna’ need her.” You looked back to the Brit as he spoke, shaking your head frantically. 

“No, no, Newt, wait.. No! It’s fine! It’s fine. Don’t get Brenda..-” Your gaze snapped to him and you shook your head, still his movements towards getting the girl. “Please, no, don’t get Brenda. It’s fine. I am fine!”

“No, you’re not!” The Brit picked at the sealing on your bandages and they fell away, blood dribbling down your skin from a cut that had torn open, and Thomas felt bile rise in his throat. Your skin was torn and red, purple in patches that were bruised and some yellow splotches splaying over the skin. Vessels that were trailing to the wound stood out prominently, deep and dark red blood filling the gaps. “You’ve burst your stitches, love, you need to let her restitch it.” You were crying, backing away, and Minho’s absence had gone unnoticed until he was pulling Thomas away from the door, Brenda rushing in with a box full of fresh rags and wire strings.

His back pressed to the cold wood, and he looked towards the doorway, light spilling out from inside into the night. “You don’t want to see this. Just.. go back. Go back and cover your ears and sleep. You thought looking at that hurt, this’ll kill ya’.” And with that he disappeared, covering his ears as your begs filled his senses. 

His back hit the outer wall, and he slid to the grass below, trying to drown out the sounds. He wasn’t sure why, and he regretted it when he did, because when it went quiet he thought it might be okay to take a peek back in, but Gally was holding down your legs, your head resting in Newt’s lap as he held your arms down. Minho was gagging, holding your wound as tightly shut as he could, a rag clenched between your teeth as Brenda straddled your hips, treading a needle in her fingers, and you were still thrashing beneath them all, even with three people holding you down. He whipped his head away just in time, your screams filling his ears even as he covered them and he rocked on the ground, feet digging into the dirt beneath his feet as sobs wracked his body. His head hit against the wall behind him, and he did anything he could to distract himself. He wished he could leave, be anywhere but here, though his body seemed paralysed, weak, and he couldn't even get up.

It seemed like hours passed, but your screaming came to an abrupt halt, the silence washing over him was a sweet relief and he felt as though he could finally take a breath once again. The four eventually trickled from the room, candle blown out and exhausted looks on their faces. Brenda held the medical kit tightly in her arms, clutched to her chest, and Gally carried bloodied rags, and old bandages, arms hanging loosely by his side as he yawned. Minho was practically carrying Newt, who had bags under his eyes that shone brightly of how tired he was but not a single one complained, all just bid their farewells before making their ways in varying directions, sending him a pitying look before slinking away into the night. 

Thomas’ heart swelled with pride at the idea that his friends would care so much, that they would look after you so well, even when he couldn't, but if there was one thing he was determined to do, it was care for you. Even if you wouldn’t let him near you for the rest of his life, he would spend every day protecting you from any harm that could come your way, he would be there for you, be what you needed, because Lord knows, he had to have you in his life some way or another, or he didn’t see a life worth living. With that thought on his mind, he finally let himself close his eyes, sleep washing over him as tension fled from his body, his head lulling back against the cold wood of your door.

Thomas had been sleeping outside of your room for a few weeks now, but his concern was only rising. He never saw you, not unless it was when one of the other boys was bursting in to calm you, and he still felt the ache in his chest every time he jolted awake to the sound of you screaming, yet entirely unable to do anything about it. 

Admittedly, it had become less frequent. It seemed that your nightmares were calming, and becoming less common, but he still knew you had trouble sleeping, he would listen to you toss and turn silently in your bed for hours until exhaustion finally took him out. The hours were growing longer, the temperatures picking up as the greenery around them seemed to be getting brighter and fresher, undoubtedly moving towards the ‘summer’ season of the safe haven’s calendar. 

The day was getting longer, it was warmer, brighter, and a happier environment as people seemed to really settle in, and realise there was no threat, and yet, Thomas had yet to see you. It wasn’t until he was munching away on his eggs and bacon that the thought really occurred to him, but not only had he not seen you, but he had no idea how you were surviving in there.

The topic of the conversation was currently on you, everybody commenting happily on how much better your night terrors had been, the bags under his friends’ eyes beginning to sink away as they go more and more sleep each night, no longer woken by your panicked cries and calls for help, and he was happy for them, but he couldn’t let go of the worry he held for you. “Why is she never around?”

The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them and the cheery praise they had been giving you fell silent. Brenda sighed, shovelling food into her mouth to avoid answering as Newt pushed his food around his plate and keeping his gaze down, Minho excusing himself from the table and Gally simply ignoring him. 

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” He came to the conclusion himself and Newt shook his head, placing his cutlery down and linking his fingers together as he looked at his friend. 

“It’s not you per se, mate, it’s just everything. It’s overwhelming. How can she face the challenge of a new day when she doesn’t even trust her own mind when she’s asleep? If she’s still reeling from a nightmare, how can she handle all this?” Newt shrugged, taking a large bite from his toast and smiling through the mouthful to his friend as Thomas thought it over.

“It’s a little bit you.” Gally added, and Thomas wanted to shoot him a glare, or scowl at him, but he knew it to be true. Gally could read you like an open book, after all, you had been the one to stop Gally from beating him to a pulp the first day in the glade. He wasn’t sure how, or why, but Gally had always considered you his closest friend, and simply for that reason, even in your absence, he restrained his wish to punch the blond in the mouth for his bluntness. “Give her time, she’ll come around. Maybe.”

Thomas could tell know that Gally was enjoying teasing him, only confirmed by the grin Gally gave him as he got up to leave the table, and Thomas turned to face Newt, who only shrugged in response. “She doesn’t come out much, she just needs her time. It’s only been two months, Thomas.” Brenda finally added her piece, and Newt hummed in agreement with her, before Frypan was calling him over, and he finished his food quickly before heading to the kitchen where the boy waited. “That’ll be her breakfast.”

“Her breakfast?” Thomas echoed, and Brenda’s brows raised as she looked at him. 

“Yeah, like a meal that you eat in the morning, to start your day? Some say it’s the most imp-”

“I know what breakfast is, Brenda!” Thomas grumbled, the girl laughing at him as he watched Newt receive the tray, beginning his limp back towards them as she headed up the path towards where he knew you resided, and before he could be stopped, Thomas was on his feet and bolting towards his hobbling friend. “Let me take it!”

Newt cocked an eyebrow at him, before his face scrunched up and he shook his head. “No. No, I don’t think so, Tommy. I got this.”

“Please, Newt.” Thomas refused to move from the pathway, blocking his friends way as his own hands came out to clutch at the other side of the tray in argument. “I won’t bother her. I-I will just put the tray down and leave, I swear! Just let me do this..” The other boy’s hold on the tray relinquished with a sigh, and he rubbed a hand over his face as Thomas beamed at him. 

Wordlessly, he spun on his heel, a slight pep in his step as made his way up the hill, the messily folded blankets and a stack of pillows sitting on the small patch of flattened grass he had been sleeping on for the recollectable months. Pink blossom decorated the trees around your little house, the secluded area was beautiful, and as the pastel-coloured petals scattered through the air on the breeze he couldn't help but think about how much you would love it if you would just come outside.

His knuckles rapped on the wooden door softly, and suddenly, the pure joy he had felt was now bubbling and nauseating anxiety as he heard you shuffle a bit behind the closed door. When it finally opened, he felt like the breath had been pulled from his lungs. Your hair was pulled back sloppily in a bun that had chunks falling loose, and bags hung under your eyes. A large shirt and sweatpants hung on your form, clothing that wouldn't irritate the wound you possessed but could easily be removed as not to strain yourself and he couldn't help but think about how pretty you looked, even now. Natural beauty was shining through, the twinkle in your eyes dulled by all the pain you had endured by not extinguished, and his heart cramped at the look that overtook your beautiful face as you realised it was him.

The door swung closed, and in a rushed bid to stop that, he pushed one of his hands in the way, a slight cry leaving him as his fingers almost got trapped between the door and the frame seal. You paused, not trapping his hands and he sighed in relief, crouching and placing the tray outside your door. “I have food! That’s it, I promise! I’ll leave, I just wanted to make sure you were eating!” He made sure to make an extra loud sound of walking away, and he threw a glance over his shoulder as he retreated, watching you open the door and take the food, smiling happily as you saw the smiley-face Frypan had made with the food.

He was happy to see you smile, even if it wasn’t with him, but he was happier to watch as you accepted the food he had brought you, because now he had a way. You would at least accept the trays of food he brought you, and if that was the first step on the road to recovery, he was more than willing to take it.

Gally had not been happy to hear about the fact that Thomas had been the one to deliver your meal to you this morning, and the next morning when he went to collect your breakfast, Frypan was reluctant to hand it over. He had quickly done so, however, upon seeing the pleading look in Thomas tear lined eyes. This time, once he was out of eyeshot of the rest of them, he had slipped the neatly folded note from his back pocket, placing it on the wood beside your cup of water before placing the tray on the ground, knocking and backing away.

He had watched carefully as he walked, as you picked up the tray, noticing the note he left you. You picked it up, clutching it carefully between two fingers and while you hadn’t opened it, you had placed it back on the tray and take the food with you inside before the door was closed on him once again.

And so, Thomas had written you a note each morning, some longer, some shorter, varying on topics. He would tell you about his dreams, or something funny that had happened during the previous day that he didn’t want you to miss out on, and if he couldn't think of anything, he simply wrote how much he missed you, or gave you a compliment.

He wasn’t sure if you were reading them, or keeping them, but he chose to have faith, he chose to believe that you were, and that while it was one-sided, he was finally communicating with you. He had happily commented on how it had been a whole week since you had screamed in your sleep, and that even if you were still having nightmares, you were controlling them better, and that you should be proud of yourself.

He was shocked, when walking up on his thirty-ninth day, his count rapidly adding up, he was just pulling your next note from his pocket when he glanced up, your door open as you leaned against it, your arms crossed and your eyes scanning the bloom trees gently, taking in the pretty sights around you. Your skin was slightly paler than he had expected, and you almost looked a little green, upon closer inspection. You were shining, a thin layer of clammy grease on your skin showing up and he was sweating with nerves himself as he finally approached.

He was completely caught off guard, the cup on the tray shaking a little as he trembled, and you stood up to meet him, but your eyes never met his, simply staring off at the scenery over his shoulder, and his cheeks tinted red. “You’ve been sleeping out here.” Your voice was hoarse and dry, scratchy from lack of use and you cleared it, a little colour rising back to your cheeks in the shade of red from your embarrassment, and more heat only flushed his features, reaching the tips of his ears.

“Uh.. yeah! I.. um-” You held your hands out for the tray, cutting him off as you took it and you turned your back on him, taking it away from the doorway and placing it down inside. He had expected that to be the end of the conversation, and he had already turned away, cursing himself under his breath for his awkwardness when you called out for him again.

“Wait! I-I need your help!” He was certain he’d given himself whiplash with the speed he had turned to face you, eyes wide as yours were sealed on the floor. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything! Of course, what do you need?” He stumbled over his feet as he came back to stand before you, and you placed your hand over the top of your bandages, scratching slightly where they sat just below your ribs.

“I need you to get Newt. Or Brenda. Anyone. Something isn’t right..” His breath hitched, fear seeping in and he scratched at the back of his neck as he thought. 

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, well Gally went with Brenda to the mainland for supplies, and Minho went to the other side of the island with Vince yesterday to plot out more space for more people but Newt is in the gardens but I’m sure he wouldn't mind! I’ll find him!” You shook your head, his eyes widening as you let out various sounds of disagreement.

“Don’t bother him. The gardens make him happy, it’ll be fine, it’s no big deal.” A scoff fell from his lips before he could stop it and even though you refused to look at him, your eyes narrowed at the sound. 

“Sweetheart, you’re hurt and something is wrong, it’s a very big deal.” You had begun to spew disagreements when he sighed loudly, effectively silencing you as he mumbled his words, clearing his throat to speak up. “Why don’t you just let me look at it? It’ll take a second, and I’ll leave straight after. Then we don’t have to bother anyone.”

He had prepared himself for an angry rejection, to be shouted at or cussed out, maybe even to have the door slammed in his face, but instead, you weakly nodded after a few moments of tense quiet, pushing the door open wider to let him enter. As he stepped in, he was hit full-force by everything that screamed you. 

It was cozy and quaint, a little fireplace sitting in the corner with a stack of logs next to it for the colder nights, and books were spread about. It was a tidy space, presumably kept so from how much time you spent in her making sure it stayed so. Books littered every surface, more stacked neatly on shelves, and he counted at least ten dotted about, if not more. Your bed was neatly made, the blankets pulled over it carefully as light curtains drifted in the breeze, carrying a cool breeze through the warm air. 

Lifting up the edge of your shirt, your stomach was exposed to him, wrapped and pinned neatly with the white fabric and he was relieved to see it clear of blood, Newt saying your stitches had been removed a few weeks prior. He reached up slowly, waiting for your nod before his fingers nimbly undid the wrapping, carefully peeling away the bandages around your midriff and dropping them in a pile on the table.

His fingers brushed along your skin, under the wound as he looked at it, watching as your twitched under his grasp, and he bit back a smile at remembering just how ticklish you were. “It looks okay to me, I think it’s just itching as it heals.” He took in the purple scarring, your skin still red and inflamed, puffy and swollen and slightly heated in patches under his touch and he frowned, hands finding your hips as he guided you to the door slightly, letting the sunlight spread over your skin so he could see a little more clearly. “Your skin is quite warm, you might have a little infection, but it doesn’t seem serious. I think salt-water cleanses would probably do the trick.”

He licked over his lips, standing back to his full height as you nodded, and you reached for a fresh set of bandages, holding them out to him timidly. “D’you mind?” 

He took the gauze and wrapping from you with a smile, biting at the inside of his cheek as he nodded. His fingers danced over your skin, and yet, it was more contact from you than he’d had in months, and he was overjoyed you were simply letting him help you. He knew it was selfish, but he prolonged the time it took him to wrap you up as long as he could, just so he could spend more time with you, until eventually, he had to finish his work, and you lowered your top again slowly. 

The minute he stepped outside, an almost inaudible ‘thank you’ left your lips, before you were concealed from his sight, and he rested his forehead against the door, grinning happily as he listened to you move around your comfortable little space in peace.

He watched and waited, sitting under the tree outside your little home, but even as the light began to drip away below the horizon as the night crept in, you still hadn’t found the courage to leave your comfort zone. That was how he had found himself knocking delicately on your door as night crept in, stars beginning to shine in the clear sky as the camp around him grew quiet as people dropped off to sleep, and your door opened gently, the soft light of the candles you lit were shining out from within and you rubbed your eyes tiredly.

You looked down at his hands, a steaming bowl of water in one and strips of clean cloth in the other, and he held them up in a gentle peace offering before your eyes, your features softening in a flick as you ducked your head, letting him enter as you closed the door behind him. He was surprised, he had expected you to take the items from him and shut him out again, and he paused as you reentered your home, lurking on the other side of the threshold before taking the step over and accepting your unspoken invitation.

“I never saw you leave, I thought I’d bring the saltwater to you.” You were sat on the edge of your bed, bunching your shirt up in your hands and he eased the bandages down, the backs of his fingers sliding along your skin delicately as he inched the bandages down, not wanting to undo the wrapping he had only done a few hours prior.

He took a seat beside you, dipping the cloth in the warm water and wringing it out before pressing it gently to your cut. You hissed, flinching in his grasp and he murmured a soft apology, pausing his movements as he wiped carefully at your injury. He moved more tentatively this time, his grasp shaking each time he moved back to the bowl, soaking and draining the fabric on repeat, until he had deemed the job done. He wiped his hands along his jeans, drying them carefully before moving the cover back up over your injury, running his fingers along the material, and when he pulled away, you dropped your shirt back down. 

“How do you feel?”

“‘M fine. It doesn’t really hurt anymore.” Your voice was practically whispered out and he nodded, standing from the bed when the silence became uncomfortable, and he took the dish and rags with him, pausing at the door as he looked back at you. You were standing idly in the middle of the room, twiddling your fingers as you nibbled on your lower lip. “You shouldn’t sleep outside every night. You should go back to your home.”

“You are my home, I’m not going anywhere.” He tipped the water out into the grass outside as he spoke, hearing your soft sigh behind him as you gave up the argument. His hand was on the door handle, ready to seal it for the night for you, but he indulged himself in one last look at you, peeking his head around the door to see you. You were tucking yourself under your sheets, curled in on yourself carefully and he smiled gently, at the sight, your lips parted, eyes closed as you snuggled into your pillow. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight.” The door was almost closed when you spoke, and for a second, he thought he may have imagined it, but the rapid thumping of his heart told him he hadn’t. It was a simple word, and it held little emotion in your tired state, but it was the first thing you had said to him since before this had all happened that wasn’t a panicked yell, or absolutely necessary, and he felt his heart warm up a little as your cold exterior cracked just slightly.

Thomas awoke with a start, jumping carefully awake as darkness still hung around him and a low groan fell from his lips, but the wonder of why he had woken slipped away as he realised he had been shaken awake. Looking around, he found you crouching beside him, looking off at the moon shining on the surface of the water and he sat up immediately, rubbing at his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He was panicked, whereas you simply hummed, nodding your head, and he stretched his body out, pushing himself up on the ground to look at you more carefully in the darkness of the night. Your hair was blowing lightly in the wind, your eyes twinkling as you looked over the camp, silent and dark as everyone slept, and he waited patiently for you to reveal the reason you had woken him.

“I like to walk at night, when everyone else is asleep. It’s quiet, and I can think clearly.” His brows furrowed and he watched as you stood up, pulling your light cardigan around yourself in the cooler night air of the summer. He didn’t understand, and he simply watched you carefully, face ducking and you looked around him, nibbling on your bottom lip a little. “Would you like to walk with me?”

He was taken aback, and he watched you slowly make your way down the path he knew so well, quickly making your way toward the beach and he scrambled for his shoes, yanking the boots onto his feet and leaving them unlaced, tugging his jumper over his head as he stumbled behind you in a rush. Falling into step beside you, he tucked his hands into his pockets, your eyes scanning over everything carefully as you led the way, and yet this time, the silence was thick, but it wasn’t stifling or uncomfortable. It was simply hanging over the pair of you heavily as you weaved your way from the camp, trailing along the beaten paths as you guided him to places even he had never been before.

Your feet carried you upwards, so far out and high up that he could see the expanse of the entire camp and beyond, at the open and untouched land waiting to be expanded onto as your community continued to grow. The sight had brought him to a halt, it was truly breathtaking, and when he looked back to you he found you had continued, and were now standing on the edge of the small cliff, looking out at where the waves crashed into the edge of the rock.

He timidly willed his feet to move forward, to bring him to stand next to you as he stared out at the vast ocean, his breath once again taken from him as he took a chance to enjoy the beauty of the world around him. He’d always been caught up in one thing or another that he had never taken a second to breathe, and it was refreshing to do so, his shoulders felt so light of worry and stress that he thought he may float away into the air.

“You really hurt me.” He could only nod in response, his eyes welling with unshed tears and he sniffed them back, blinking rapidly to clear them as the hurt lacing your tone struck him deeply, piercing straight into his heart. Minutes passed, and the two of you simply stood together, staring out at the ocean and the silently crashing waves, before he turned to you, his body facing yours as he processed his thoughts.

“Do you remember in the scorch, when I would come and find you on rough nights, what eventually became every night?” Your head ducked as he spoke, before you nodded, looking away from him as your head turned away, but he wasn’t going to give up, not when he finally had a chance to talk to you. “You’d hold me close and let me listen to your heartbeat. You’d kiss the top of my head and play with my hair, and I got so used to it that it became the only thing that relaxes me.” His fingers brushed absentmindedly over his scarred over bullet wound, and your gaze found your feet again, and he watched as you swallowed thickly, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t remember much after getting shot. I bled out fast, there was a lot of pain, and a lot of blood, not a lot of consciousness. I remember fingers in my hair, and being held, and kisses on the top of my head. I remember warm lips, and I remember cold metal, and what I remember most, is your screams.”

The minutes seemed to drag on, and he sniffed quietly, wiping at his eyes each time a hot, salty tear slipped free, and you let out a deep sigh, turning to look at him, and his breath left his body as your own teary eyes found him, looking at him for the first time since he’d shakily kissed you before dashing off to go and get a cure for Newt, before everything had gone wrong, and you held the same kind of pain in your eyes now. “I forgive you, but it doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. I don’t know if we can ever be the same as what we once were, but I think at the very least, we might one day be friends.”

He laughed shakily, nodding his head as tears fell freely down his cheeks now, his body filling head to toe with warmth as you told him he had a chance, that one day, you wouldn’t look at him with such coldness again, and no matter what came of it or what didn’t, he finally had something to work towards. 

Relief wasn’t even the correct word to use, Thomas had never felt this good in his life, it was the kind of ecstasy that a person rarely finds, but his heart felt like it had finally crawled up from his stomach and began beating in his chest again, like he could conquer the world, because one day you would be by his side once again.

“I will wait as long as it takes.” He took your face in his hands, thumbs smoothing over your skin as you frowned at him, wiping away loose tears they dropped as he held your gaze, staring at you longingly and intensely. “I love you, with everything that I am.”

Thomas was worried. He hadn’t seen you for two days since your walk, and the trays were collecting outside your door. You hadn’t opened your door to take them, you hadn’t even come outside. He had stayed awake at nights to see if he could catch you slipping out to walk, and you hadn’t even done that. 

Not since the two of you had spoken on the clifftop a week ago.

He was chewing aggressively on his piece of bacon, the chatter around him concerning you as everyone wondered and contemplated why you were suddenly relapsing when you had made such progress in recent months. The spring had really brought you out of your shell, and now at the height of summer, you were caving in on yourself, it didn’t make sense. Your tray of food sat before him as he stared at it, contemplating what had made you spiral.

Thomas feared he was the reason for your relapse, perhaps he had stepped too far, or perhaps you simply decided you no longer forgave him. Maybe you regretted what you had said, or maybe you were hurt and couldn't get to him for help. He was cut from his thoughts as Newt banged his hands down on the table, a shout falling from his lips as a rare curse fell from his mouth, Thomas’ eyes widening at his friends vulgar language.

“Shut the fuck up, you bloody idiots. Look!” He pointed over Thomas’ shoulder, and the boy almost choked on his food as he turned in his seat to get a look at whatever his friend was so worked up about.

You had braided your hair neatly, the plait sitting on your shoulder as wispy strands fell free around your face, and a sundress swished around your thighs delicately. The material was white, with yellow flowers printed across it, and he recognised it as one of the items of clothing Brenda had picked out for you, bringing them to you in stacks one day and leaving them piled around your house for you to unpack. You looked happy, despite the anxiety written all of your features as many sets of eyes beyond their friendship group fell on you, your hands clasped in front of you as you made your way towards them all slowly.

“C-Can I join you guys?” They were all silent, before nodding, jumping up and shuffling around the table enthusiastically to create space, many seats being offered to you, and he tried to calm his racing heart as you slipped silently down to sit on the bench beside him. Your shoulder brushed against his as you took a seat, his friends all taking a seta happily and beaming at you as they tucked into their food again. 

He stayed facing forwards, but his cheeks were warm, and he reached out, gently pushing the tray of food that had been intended for you, in your direction, and you took it happily, picking up your knife and fork, head perking up as you listened to your friends chatter, and he couldn't stop watching you, finally taking this big leap with them all.

You didn’t speak, in fact, an entire week had passed before you began to add to the conversations, but despite your fears, you had joined them each day, and Thomas’ heart swelled with pride as he watched you rejoin the world, and rejoin your friends. Watching you men yourself, was slowly mending him, too. You were everything that had been missing from his days, and now, you were here to join them.

As the summer went on, you expanded out with them. You had even joined them for some evening meals, and one night, Newt had managed to tempt you from your little home to join them for a bonfire on the beach. You had spent the entire night sitting on the log beside him, your leg pressed up to the side of his, laughing as you watched your friends make a fool of themselves, before Thomas had carried your sleeping body home, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you lay unconscious.

You had confided in them, that you were no longer having nightmares, a month having passed since your last night terror, and he’d had to suppress the urge to cry as he’d watched Newt pick you up, spinning in a circle in joy, and Gally throw you over his shoulder as he cheered loudly, your hands banging on his back. He’d watched you proudly skipped down on a hot day to flash them all your side, bandage free as you proudly showed the scar on the side of your stomach, all of them telling you how badass it made you look.

Brenda had regained her best friend, and he’d watched as she’d woken you up early one morning, insisting you have a girls' day, before she’d dragged you out from your home, your hand clasped in hers as you’d shot him a pleading look when he leaned up from his pillow and blanket set up under the tree, and he’d grinned as he watched her drag you away. That day you had gone swimming, and she had braided your hair in a cute style, with the help of the B-Maze girls. They had woven flowers into your locks and gossiped with you all-day, and by the time you were making it home, you were dragging tired limbs, he hadn’t seen you for that entire day, he had been getting back into bed himself when you finally returned, but he hadn’t missed the dopey smile on your face or the pep in your step.

The summer at the safe haven had been the best thing to ever happen to you, there was no doubt about it, and as the cold of autumn began to sweep in on them all, Thomas couldn't help but assume the worst. He feared that you would close yourself off again, as harsh weather conditions chilled everybodies warm moods, and the group hung out less, the days growing shorter and the temperatures dropping. 

He had been returning from a long day at work with Vince when he had seen you again. Light was spilling out from under your door in the darkness, soon expanding as you swung the door open, looking down at him as he carefully peeled his shoes off. The blossom from the tree he took up residence under had disappeared, the leaves on the ground around him crunching noisily in their crisp and dry forms, and you hummed unhappily, shaking your head as you looked at him. 

“Get up, you can’t sleep outside anymore. It’s too cold.” You looked straight at him, your voice commending and you stare solid and unwavering, but he shook his head vehemently, crossing his arms over his chest like a child as he snuggled back into his blankets.

“I’m staying right here, just in case you need me.”

You shivered at the cold air, your pyjamas doing little for you as a whine fell from your lips, and he looked at you, smile flicking up at the pout on your lips from his actions. “Will you just get up and bring your shit inside? I can’t have you freezing to death.” His jaw dropped as you spoke, his heart rate shooting through the roof and you turned away, backing into your house as he scooped up his blanket and pillow, grabbing his shoes and holding them all in a bundle as he moved forward to follow you. 

He pushed the door shut tightly behind him, finding that you had hung a blanket up over it to cover it for extra warmth, and when he turned around, he found you had laid out a thick blanket on the floor for him, an extra pillow sitting on the floor beside your bed in a haphazardly made space to sleep, but it was more comfortable than what he’d had for the past half a year, and he was more than excited to crawl into it. The fire was just dying out, the last sticks crackling as the flames died down to embers, leaving a low light hanging over the room as you took his shoes from him, dropping them beside your own.

“Aw, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but he could see you biting at the inside of your cheeks to contain your smile, and you flopped down into your own bed happily, the frame squeaking a little form the sudden weight but you were quick to crawl under the sheets and snuggle in. “May as well get comfortable, I’m not having you shifting about and rustling from now on, I like my sleep.” He beamed, undoing his belt and shimmying the pants down his legs before placing his own pillow beside the one you had given him, pulling the extra blanket up over himself, a groan falling from his lips and you chuckled. “I hung your blanket out with mine over the fire while I waited for you, so that it was extra warm.”

“You’re adorable.” He cooed, tugging at the edge of the blanket for your attention and you scoffed, smacking his hand away as you turned onto your side to face away from him. 

“Shut it, Thomas, go to sleep. Don’t make me put you back out in the cold.” You threatened, but even as you were facing away from him he could hear the playful edge to your voice, and the teasing tone he held. It took a minute to register with him, before he was grinning so widely that his cheeks ached. 

“You called me Thomas.”

“That would be because it’s your fucking name, you nub.” He laughed loudly at the weak insult, but he leaned up, bypassing the fact that you were ignoring him as he leaned over you, placing a kiss to your exposed shoulder before getting back into his own bed. 

“You haven’t said my name since before the last city.” You didn’t reply, and he didn’t need one, because that night was the happiest night of Thomas’ life so far, and he fell asleep warm and content, with a smile on his face and you on his mind.

Throughout the autumn, as the nights grew colder and the days grew shorter, your progress only furthered and Thomas was incredibly proud. You allowed him to sleep inside each night, and you had started venturing out for hot food with him each night, and the pair of you would walk together silently to gather the logs to burn on your fire.

More and more of his belongings had started to arrive in your home, and neither of you seemed to notice that his things and your things were being merged, the pair of you being comfortable as you moved around one another carefully. A routine had become established after a few weeks, and you’d quickly set into the system of waking up, going for breakfast together, before Thomas split off to help Vince and Gally with building. You would spend your day reading, or helping Brenda, and you had recently even adventured as far as joining Frypan in the kitchen, serving food up to everybody who began to come past in the evenings, reaching out further and meeting new people.

In the evenings, the two of you would move quietly about the little home, each keeping to your own as you spend your evenings keeping warm by your fire before going to sleep for the night. You no longer refused to meet his eye, often being happy to sit in your bed and listen to him talk about his day when he got home, laughing occasionally as he had told you a joke, and adding your own opinion when he told you about an argument that had happened. 

You had even helped him work through problems with Vince when he had come home stressed, and in recent days, you had begun to tell him about your own day when he finished talking about his. He couldn't help the beaming smile he held, no matter what you were talking about, how boring or dull it was, purely because you were talking to him, you were happy and smiling and you wanted to share that with him.

As the autumn came in, it brought a new friendship, and even if it never moved on any further, you had let him back into your life, and he was grateful for every second of it. 

He had found his own mood becoming more peaceful, since you had let him back into your life, your night terrors seemed to have died down and his own sleep was better, he was happier, his mood was improved and it was all simply for being closer to you. 

Except for tonight. 

Tonight, Thomas was holding the blanket over his mouth, his vision spotting as he tried to hold his breath to contain the violent sobs he wanted to release, tears tracking down his face and he sniffed deeply. He tried to contain his cries, his face buried in his pillow as the memories flashed behind his eyes and he sniffed deeply, his body shaking with silent sobs, but his quiet clearly hadn’t been enough, because he heard you groan in your sleep, rolling over to face him in the dark.

“Thomas?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I-I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse, and he heard you sit up, a sigh leaving your lips and soon, and he could vaguely make out your outline as you looked down at him in the dark, moonlight barely helping him see. You waited patiently, looking at him carefully and he could feel your gaze on him. His bottom lip trembled, and he groaned, rubbing at his face to clear the salt away from his wet cheeks. “I dreamt about Chuck.”

If anyone knew about the pain of dreaming about someone you had failed to save, it was you. Your heart reached out for him, and you lay back down in your pillows, letting him collect himself as his heavy breathing settled and he lay back down. Hanging your hand over the side of your bed, your dragged your fingertips along the blankets covering him, finding where his hand would be and settling your hand over the top of his. 

There was no hesitation on his part, his hands quickly removed themselves from under the covers, taking your steady hand in his shaky grasp, he held the limb in both of his hands, grasping it tightly as he squeezed his eyes shut, more tears flowing from them. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he pressed trembling kisses to your knuckles, and each of your fingers, before unfurling your hand and pressing the pads on the tip of each finger to his lips too, himself simply by holding onto him. You had twisted on your side to face him, and you dragged your hand from his, his heart jumping sadly as you retracted it, but it soon landed on his cheek gently, the backs of your fingers wiping away his tears delicately before you cupped his cheek, thumb smoothing along his skin slowly, and he twisted his head, a kiss being left on your palm before he settled happily, a hand coming up to hold onto yours over his cheek.

Your touch soon relaxed him, his eyes drying as his heart calmed, and sleep was soon lulling him back in. When he had woken in the morning, he’d assumed you would’ve pulled away, rolled back over in your bed and taken your comfort away, but instead, he awoke to your hand still gently resting over his cheek, warm and still, his elbow aching as he still held onto you but it was worth it because it meant he could hold you. Your features were peaceful as you faced him, eyes shut and lips slightly parted as you slept, and he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you looked, memorising the way you looked, imprinting the sight of you into his mind.

As it turned out, he wouldn’t have to, because it was a sight he could grow used to.

The following night, as he’d settled in on the floor for some sleep, he had fumbled over his words, picking at loose strings on the edge of his blanket as he gnawed on his lip, and you’d simply snuggled down into your pillows and held your hand out for him. He’d laced your fingers with his, holding your hand over his heart, clutching the bundle to his chest and falling into an easy sleep.

From that night, Thomas slept holding onto your hand, reassuring himself that you weren’t going anywhere, that he had you, and that you had him.

Thomas was normally the first to wake up, each morning he would rise with the sun, and would pull himself away from you after giving himself a chance to just look at you and take you in, he would change into clothes for the day, and make you both a hot drink to start the morning. He would light the candles and the fire, the cold air of the harsh winter sneaking in. 

This morning, Thomas has awoken to his shoulders being shaken roughly. The warmth of your hand in his hair, on his face or in his hand was missing, but when he cracked his eyes open in the cool air, he had been more than surprised to find you fully dressed, sitting on his left as you shook him awake excitedly. He groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes, but a smile pulled at his lips as you whined at him, telling him to wake up faster.

“Thomas! Open your damn eyes and come look outside!” You gripped onto his wrist, tugging him to his feet as he stumbled behind you, stumbling to the door as you flung it open. He cursed as the cold air swept in, and despite the lack of warm clothing you were wearing as well, you were practically bouncing with excitement, happier than he had ever seen you. “It’s snowing, Thomas!”

His head tilted to the side, he was far too preoccupied watching you watch the snow than he was with the thick blanket of white that lay over the paradise they knew. When you finally turned to him, you had life in your expression and a twinkle in your eye that he had never seen, more pure joy for life than you had ever had before the events that had brought you crumbling down, and in that moment, Thomas realised that the pain had rebuilt you as a new woman.

Thomas also realised in that moment, that he would do anything and everything to keep you that way, because nothing made him happier than when you were happy.

He hadn’t realised how much he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache, and brought his hand up, rubbing at them absentmindedly as you closed the door again, shivering in the cool air, your hand leaving his as you buzzed around the small home. You threw your warmest clothes out on your own bed, pulling the warmest clothes of his from the piles of his belongings that had started to manifest on all surfaces, your unconscious instinct to look after him kicking in and his heart and cheeks warmed as you laid out warm clothes for him. 

He had barely snapped himself from his loving daze and made it across the room to change by the time you were passing him by, wrapping a scarf around your neck as you tugged on your boots at the door, flinging it open and dashing out, the crunch of snow sounding as your quick footfalls retreated away down the path.

It wasn’t hard for him to follow you, still tugging his coat up onto his shoulders as he followed the path you had gone, yours being the only set of footprints in the crisply laid snow, and he tracked you quickly, finding you banging excitedly on Newt’s door. As he approached, he watched the blonde answer, a miffed look on his face as he looked at you, glancing past you over your shoulder to Thomas as he approached, coming to a stop by your side. 

“Newt, stop being such a sour puss. It’s snowing! Are you telling me you don’t want to launch snowballs straight at Thomas’ face?” He gasped, pouting falsely as Newt smirked, dipping his head as he nodded happily. 

“You got me there, love. Give me ten minutes.” He really was only ten minutes, and Thomas was almost offended that in that ten minutes, you had given that exact same selling point to Brenda, Minho and Gally, all of whom had taken the bait and thrown their warmest clothes on with the promise of getting to pelt snowballs at him. Aris and Sonya had soon joined, and they had dragged Frypan away from the kitchen with a basket of sandwiches, and soon, the large group was making their way up one of the nearer hills to find the best place to sit.

You had watched the sunrise, the wonder in your eyes as the winter sun lit up the skies. You had sat and eaten your breakfast happily, before spending the day doing exactly as you had promised them all. 

Pelting snowballs at one another until your shirts were full of snow, your noses were red and your bodies were sore from all the exercise. You had done it all, you had made snow angels and built snowmen, and at one point, you had all collectively tried to build an igloo, of which you all collectively blamed Gally for when it didn’t work out. He was the keeper of the builders, he should have known the structural integrity of an igloo, in your opinion, and you had voiced that.

Which had quickly led to Gally picking you up and throwing you into the largest pile of snow he could find. You were covered head to toe, and Thomas laughed, brushing snow from your coat as you pouted, sticking your tongue out at Gally over his shoulders and you shook your hair, loose ice falling from it. Your cheeks were rosy, as was the tip of your nose, and your lips were red, your eyes as bright as your smile despite it all. 

Trailing his hands down your arms, he noticed the way you were clenching and unclenching shaky hands, and he cupped them gently, rubbing them with his own glove covered ones before bringing them to his mouth. He blew warm air between his own hands, heating yours which were cased inside and your eyes found his, a small smile on your face as you watched him carefully. 

You were focused on one another, and neither of you noticed the soft looks Newt was giving you both, or the way he smacked Minho upside the head when he gagged, and even Gally had a small smile on his face as they watched the pair of you simply look at one another, Thomas alternating between rubbing your hands and blowing warm air onto them as he tried to warm you up.

He brought his own hands to his lips, using his teeth to tug the gloves from them and he held them out to you, as your glance flicked between him and the gloves, before you shook your head, and his brows furrowed. “Your hands will be cold then.”

“Sweetheart, your hands are colder than mine. Just take the gloves.” He held them out to you again and you still refused, your stand against him holding.

“No.”

“Take the gloves!”

“No!” You had a small smirk on your face as he huffed, his shoulders sagging and he pouted, wanting to stomp his foot like a child. He could hear the others packing up behind him, the light they had walked up here to already beginning to ebb away as the sun made its way towards the opposite horizon, and the two of you were at a standoff. Looking over him, you plucked one of the gloves from his hand, snapping it onto your own and he grinned victoriously. When you took the other however, you had lifted his hand, pulling the cotton down onto his hand until you both had one gloved hand, and a laugh fell from his lips.

“Now we both have one cold hand?” He studied you carefully, and you leaned forwards, pressing your forehead to his chest as the fingers of your uncovered hand wove through his, your palms pressing together as you shared warmth, and he was certain you had felt the way his heart skipped a beat from where you were leaning into his chest. Wrapping an arm around you, his covered hand splayed out across your back, his cold cheek pressing to the top of your head as his eyes slipped shut. 

He wasn’t sure how long the two of you stood there, but eventually Newt had tapped his shoulder, telling him that it was time to head back before it got too cold and dark to navigate, and he didn’t miss the supportive and happy looks on everyone's faces as they watched the pair of you turn around, your hand tucked tightly in Thomas’ for the rest of the walk.

The blush on his cheeks never left, and neither did the smile on his face. You held onto his hand for the whole walk, your head resting on his shoulder, and you held onto him tightly, even as you hugged your friends goodbye. Your hand had only left his as you had made it back to your little home, quickly bolting away from him to kneel before your fireplace, chucking logs and kindling into the small hearth and he chuckled watching you. 

He stood behind you, slowly unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, before hanging it up. He leaned over, taking the glove form your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, before lifting his blanket from the floor, wrapping it around your carefully. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?” He had mumbled the words against the top of your head, placing a kiss to your hair before he’d headed back out of the door.

When he had returned, you had changed, but the hut was quickly warming up as the fire roared, and you had planted yourself happily back in front of the fire, his blanket still wrapped around you tightly. As the smell of food hit your nose, you turned excitedly, taking in the two bowls of soup and the two rolls of bread he carried, a grin lighting up your face. 

“Who made soup?” You beamed at him, holding your hands out as he placed one of the warm containers within them, placing his own and the bread on the floor beside them, shrugging as he took his boots off.

“No idea, I could smell it being made as we got back, I thought you’d like a little warmer treat before bed.” You glanced up at him with soft eyes as he padded across the room to change into his sleepwear, before collapsing beside you on the floor before the little fire. You shuffled closer to him, reaching out behind him to took the blanket over his shoulders too, your body pressed against his as you ate quietly.

He didn’t even bother returning the bowls to the kitchen, merely placing them and the spoons on the table in the room, deciding he would return them in the morning. Your eyes were dropping, the tiredness of the day hitting you both as warmth finally seeped into your bones, his yawns being matched by your own. You were settling down onto your covers, and he brushed your hair out of your face, tucking your blankets up around your shoulders, before your hand shot out to grasp at his shirt when he pulled away.

Your eyes were closed, but you tugged on his shirt forcefully and he leaned over, kneeling on the edge of the bed as you smiled at him sleepily. Your other hand patted the space beside you, and after a second’s wait, he lay himself down gently, pulling the covers up over his own body as he settled down onto the soft mattress. A small groan fell from his lips, he felt like he was sleeping on clouds after all these months on the ground, and an amused chuckle left your lips.

His arm tucked under his head, and you were quick to snuggle into his shoulder, matching sighs leaving you both as his heart beat rapidly on the inside of his ribs. Dipping his head, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, trailing them up into your hair as he slowly kissed every patch he could reach. The fingers of the arm you lay on wove through your hair gently, and the other wrapped around your waist, pulling your body flush up against his as your legs tangled. 

A small, tired chuckle left his lips, and his own quirked up at the sound, it being the only noise other than both of your relaxed breathing, that could be heard in the quiet little cabin. “What’s so funny, sweetheart?”

“I just never realised how nice it was to have your hair played with and your head kissed. It was always you on the receiving end.” You mumbled, face half-buried in his shoulder and you nuzzled further into his neck, your breath washing over his skin. That night, Thomas realised he had a chance to once again hold your heart in his hands, like you had always held his, and this time he would protect it with everything he had, for the rest of his life. 

The dirt still crunched with ice underfoot as Thomas made his way back up towards the little cabin, tired but happy as the winter finally cleared and the spring began to make its new appearance. The bundle in his hand was clutched tightly, and he ran a hand over his face, exhaustion creeping in as he pushed the door open, back to the room as he toed off his boots and dumped them in a pile.

He knew something was different when he turned around, but he couldn't place what it was. You were moving quietly about the home, the fire crackling, as usual, a book laying open on your bed, covered slightly messy to show that you had been sitting on them, as you stood before him, blowing the steam from the drink in your hands as you smiled at him to welcome him home. 

“What did you do?”

“What d’you mean?” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you looked over him once, eyes closing on the gift still clutched in his hand, and he placed them down on the table, taking off his coat and rubbing his hands together for warmth after hanging up his coat.

“Something looks different. I can’t tell what it is, though?” You always kept the place clean, it was important to you, but somehow it looked cleaner today, it looked spotless and perfect, and he wasn’t quite sure why.

“I tidied up and put your stuff away.” He paused, his heart dropping to his stomach and he turned to look at you from where he stood before the fire, your expression plain as he tried to read into it, unable to decipher anything.

“What do you mean away?”

He was almost scared to hear the answer, afraid that you were kicking him out, but you shrugged casually, taking a sip of the tea in your hands, and he noticed a put off it sitting over the fire to keep hot. “I got tired of your clothes and things being piled up everywhere. I stubbed my toe on one of your books this morning, so I just put it all away.” He gaped at you, still not too sure what you were saying, before you had moved on. Placing your books down, you moved over to the little set of drawers, pulling it open to show a mix of your clothes inside, and his cheeks heated up. “Your clothes are in here, and I put all your books on the shelf because I wasn’t sure which one you were actually reading, so you’ll just have to fi-”

His hands found your hips, tugging you towards him and you cut yourself off with a little yelp, his lips finding your forehead, before he rubbed the tip of his nose against it, nuzzling at you gently. “You officially moved me into your little cabin?”

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes with love as you pushed him away from you. “I think it’s been our cabin for a while now, Tommy.” Ignoring the smirk on his lips as you walked over to the yellow gift collection he had brought, taking them in your fingers gently and lifting them up, an eyebrow raised to him. “These are nice.”

His heart soared as you told him you like his gift, and he lifted up your tea, taking a few sips of the hot liquid and relishing in the warmth as he nodded, watching as you admired them. “I’ve been watching for the first batch of daffodils to grow, I saw them a few weeks ago and picked them today. I thought you’d like them, and they remind me of you.”

Placing the mug down, he stepped over to you, hands finding your hips as you ran your fingers over the soft petals, a small smile on your lips. “They do? Why?”

“Well, you know. They’re all cute and bright, and they survived the cold and dark times, only to bloom even stronger on the other side of it..” He trailed himself off, a heat coating his cheeks all the way from his nose to the tips of his ears and you cooed quietly at him, his turn to be embarrassed. Placing them back down, you leaned into his chest, arms wrapping around his waist as his own circled your shoulders. His cheek pressed against the top of your head, his eyes sliding shut as he simply held you tightly, the two of you swaying slightly in the tight embrace. “‘M glad you like them.”

You shuffled in his grasp, pulling away to look up at him and he stared down at you, watching as you brought a hand up to hold his face, and he tipped his cheek into your touch slightly. “I love them.” He beamed fondly at your words, happy to just watch you, and his eyes widened as you leaned up.

He had never expected it, but a soft moan left his lips as yours found his, moving slowly and softly together, your lashes tickling his cheeks as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. He was frozen, only for a moment, before he tilted his head to the side, his nose bumping against yours as he tipped his head to be able to kiss you in a deeper fashion, his lips finally responding as his mouth worked against yours slowly but passionately.

His hands slid from your shoulders, one resting on the side of your neck as the other weaved into your hair, holding you close to him as he pressed kiss after kiss to your lips, barely pulling back for breath before he was diving back into you, the smile he was badly suppressing making it hard, but he wasn’t giving up easily, and you happily returned the loving caresses, your own hands sitting on his waist now having slid up along his chest, feeling the chaotic beat of his heart under your palm.

Eventually, the burning need for oxygen just became too much, and he had to pull back, panting as his forehead pressed to yours, and he licked over his swollen lips, grinning as he heard you giggle slightly. “God, I missed your kisses so much.”

He was still breathless, and it only prompted you to laugh lightly again, pressing another quick peck to his lips before you pulled away. “Thank you for the flowers.” He nodded bashfully, a dopey grin on his face as he looked at you, and he was sure the overwhelming love he held for you was swirling visibly in his eyes, written all over his face for you to read like a book.

You turned away from him, picking up your flowers and he whined as you stepped back, popping the bubble that had been created around the both of you. “No, don’t go! Come back and kiss me some more!” He practically whimpered the words and you looked over your shoulder at him, a teasing smile on your lips. 

“Let me put my flowers away first!” You chastised, and he waited patiently as he watched you fill a small glass with water, standing them in, arranging them carefully and he was sure you were dragging out the arrangement just to make him wait longer. After another small plea left his lips, you decided that they were positioned perfectly, before you were soon skipping back across the room and into his waiting grasp.

Your arms were slung around his neck as his held your waist, his lips pouted, and you leaned up, pressing a quick and chaste kiss to his lips, and his brows furrowed, a ‘hmph’ leaving him at the small exchange as he leaned forward for more, holding you to him tightly but you leaned back from him, your eyes finding his seriously as you cupped his cheek with one of your hands, looking at him with a fond gaze. 

“Thank you for giving me time, Tommy.” He shook his head, ducking his gaze from yours momentarily as he chewed on his bottom lip. 

“Thank you for loving me again.” After speaking, he pressed a series of small kisses to your lips, humming triumphantly each time you let him, and he walked the pair of you backwards slowly. His legs met the edge of the bed tonight, and he let himself fall back, bringing you with him as you giggled through a surprised scream, your body landing softly on his chest and you looked down at him, lifting a hand to weave through his hair as his own tucked loose strands away behind your ears. 

Leaning down, you brushed your lips against his and he let out a happy sigh, deciding he would never get tired of being able to hold you and kiss you, and everything that led up to this moment had only made it worth it. “I love you, sweetheart.”

You pressed your lips to the tip of his nose, before bumping yours against his lovingly, a smile on your lips as you curled into his chest happily. “I love you too, Tommy.”

[eerythingisshaka]

Will the Bell Ring? Pt. 3

(Erik Killmonger x Black!OC)

Part 1 Part 2

Kimara pays the barista for her green tea and goes across the street to the studio.  This week has been a hectic one for her since she’s been working with Peter Gafflin, an alternative rock artist who is on the come up since his EP dropped last year.  Kimara was owed a favor from the owner of the studio, Rick, after Erik helped get him some new equipment from a group that trashed the place after a drug fueled mosh pit they formed to add ambiance to their album.  Suffice to say, they would not be returning to record any time soon.

When she enters the studio, Rick is there playing in his grey locs nervously.

“Kimmy!  Good to see you 15 minutes past showtime, I really appreciate it.”  He smiles, dimples still displaying powerfully under is grey beard.

She shrugs.  “You know I have a process, Ricky Kanicky!  It all works out in the end, thanks for the hookup on this gig.  Are they waiting on me?”

Rick holds out his arm to escort her to the back.  “Nah, I stalled them with some mic check mumbo jumbo, so at least their warmed up properly.  You need some time in the booth before we start?”

She shakes her head as he opens the door.  A gust of patchouli hits her senses.  Peter Gafflin and his gang were warming up in a way much different than how Rick described.

“Rick!  Thank God, I was ready to call the police, you were gone for like three hours man!”  Peter’s rough Carolinian accent boomed as he walked wistfully over to you two in his holely jeans and cowboy boots with his fringed black leather jacket and matching wide brimmed hat.

“No, I just had to go get some extra talent to guide our recording session along.  This is Kimara, she’s the third part to our banging backup we keep on hand for artists.”

Peter towers over her at 6’7, but humbly bends to kiss your hand like a prince.  “To God be the glory for creating women and music.  Put them together and I’m a happy Papa, you know what I’m saying?!”  He ribs Rick before clapping thunderously to liven his group.  “Aight y’all!  Look alive.   Dave get your Fender, Bill get your wide ass behind them drums, everybody take your places!”

Kimara goes over to the mics with her other singers.  “Wassup Brenda?  Tara?”

They roll their eyes at you before mumbling their hellos.  You put your headphones on to get ready for the track to play, not studdin them today.  They were the fourth pair this year to work for Rick and the studio.  They all get inspired to be solo artists or get too wrapped up in the artist of the day and think they can keep up with a touring schedule to only come out of it broke with no plan B, and pregnant.  

Singing has always been her dream to do, and any capacity in which Kimara can fulfill that, is one she is willing to go for.  It’s her escape, her home away from home, it’s her church, especially when the artist has some good stuff to work with.  Kimara hadn’t gotten as in depth with Peter’s discography as she usually does with artist’s before a recording session because her mind could not focus lately.  Trying to have a baby has been on her mind 24/7 and Erik filling her mind with hope and then trying to tell her to chill made her crazy.  Did he want a baby as bad as she did?  Kimara didn’t think so anymore.

She shakes her head and takes a few deep breaths before looking over the music with the girls.  Brenda catches her up on the tempo of the song and little points in which Peter wanted them to blow.  Southern singers couldn’t deny the power of a good Black gospel when they needed it.

Peter certainly is no exception.  He places his hands in front of his mouth in prayer before raising them up to the sky, bringing them down with shaky fists.

“Now THAT is a climax if I ever heard one.  What did I tell you Rick?  Music and women, the best sounds on this Earth come from both.”  Peter smiles pointing victoriously at the three of them before taking his place at his mic.  “I’m ready ladies, let’s record this thing!”

After a few dry rehearsals, time came to record.  Kimara gives a thumbs up to Rick as he queues up the track to play in your ears.   The song isn’t bad, kind of bluesy and it’s about a love misunderstood.   Peter plays a man who is trying to convince his lover out of depression, using the analogy of being in shark infested waters.  His lover finds the water and waves so beautiful she jumps from the boat and dives in after he protests over and over.  He is subjected to watch as the sharks circle around her, he reaches out to her the whole time reminding her that he is there and to take his hand.  He can’t tell if her face is wet from the ocean or from tears but she is smiling all the same and it frustrates him to see the danger looming but she isn’t phased.  

The song ends ambiguously but Kimara can’t stop her emotions from spilling over and affecting her vocals a little bit.  Rick notices immediately and cuts the session short, popping into the booth.  

“Hey Kimara, you alright?”  He asks in a fatherly manner.  

All she can do is nod and wipe her eyes as she wishes she was anywhere but there.  Being late is unprofessional enough, but costing an artist studio time, she might as well hang it up now.  Peter comes over to Kimara, waving at Rick.  “We’re fine, just give us a minute.”  He dips his height down to look her in her eyes.  “You alright there, ma’am?”

Kimara nods shrugging.  “The song is just that good I guess.”

Peter shakes his head.  “No, it isn’t.  My buddy Ralph helped me to write it, I’ve been wondering about the composition of it since, but when he died in a car crash a couple months ago, I haven’t been able to nail this thing down.  He’d know exactly what it needs, but he ain’t here to tell it.”

“I’m sorry for your loss Peter.”  Kimara says apologetically.

Peter smiles.  “I didn’t kill him, so all’s good!  I want you to sing a little something on the track for me, just you, to kind of hear how it sounds.  Don’t worry about my notes, just do what feels good to you.”

Peter motions to Rick as he walks Kimara over to his mic, setting the headphones over her ears.  Kimara feels nervous instantly, not knowing what to do with the spotlight being on her, this has never happened to her before.  

But as the track plays, she sings the lyrics from her heart.  They were pretty simple and easy to memorize so when she closed her eyes and flowed with the track, she began to feel that familiar emotion again, accept this time she honed it as best as she could.  She knew where her inspiration came from, it was undeniable, but why did he bring the sadness out so easily?  Before she knew, the song was done and when she opened her eyes, Peter was on one knee with his hands out.

“You see me right now?  This is what you just did to me, an old bachelor crooner ready to lay down it all for your hand.  Are you betrothed my dear?”

Kimara laughs as she takes off her headphones, stepping back.  “None of your business, because you are too wild for me anyway!”  

Peter gets up pointing at Rick.  “You hiding treasures from me, you greedy bastard!  This girl ain’t a back up, she’s a star in the making!”

Kimara felt hot, trying her best to appear humble, but this man has a way with words that made her completely big headed.  “It’s nothing.  I don’t have the time for that right now.  I’m focusing on my personal life.”

Peter smiles but appears disappointed.  “Girl the places you can go.  I hope you have someone in your life to remind you of your-your QUEENLY-ness!  I wouldn’t leave the house without you by my side.”

Kimara shakes her head.  “Well luckily I do have someone.   He’s….pretty great I think.”

Peter pulls his glasses down the bridge of his nose.  “Well until that ‘think’ turns into a ‘know’ keep me in mind.”

Kimara cackles pushing him away.  “You have some nerve.  Get back to your spot so we can make this album and go home!”  

They share a laugh but before Kimara goes back to her mark she turns to him.  “Peter, I did wonder though, with the song:  Does the lady ever take your hand?  Gets out?”

Peter smiles weakly shaking his head.  “Nah, never does.  Cuz I pushed her in.”

Nine Years Ago

Kimara sits on the couch with a movie playing in the background but she isn’t really looking at it.  Her eyes have glazed over the moving images on her screen and the sounds are similar to being underwater.  There is too much happening in her mind at the moment to even be bothered with the world around her.  

Kimara hangs her head clutching her knees as she thinks back to a couple months ago, when Erik was there.  She had left her part time job at the music college and cautiously pulled up to her house when an ominous figure sat on her front doorstep.  Her keys tucked between her knuckles and 911 ready to just hit dial, she steps out the car.  

“Whatchu want?!”  She bellows, bringing the bass out her voice as much as possible.  His head hung low enough that the front door light couldn’t catch his features, face masked in the darkness.  

She hears him chuckle.  “The hell you barkin at?”  He lifts his head up to look at her.

Kimara’s heart dropped in her stomach at the sound of his voice.  Covering her mouth, she drops her keys to the concrete, overcome with emotion.  He wasn’t supposed to be there, practically considered him dead.  Erik gets up, hugging her tightly.  “I told you I was gonna be aight.  I told you.”

Kimara gasps for breath.  “No!  You ain’t told me though!”  She punches his chest for emphasis.  

Erik pulls her away to lift her face toward his, wiping her eyes.  “I like a surprise, what can I say.”

Kimara sniffles her snot bubbles, stepping back.  “This is so damn embarrassing.  How can you act so cool right now.  I’m a mess, and you put on so much damn weight, like, the fuck!”

Erik opens his jack to look down at himself.  “Well damn!  You still know how to talk crazy to somebody.”

She laughs.  “No, like, look at you!  You got so damn….BIG, like….”  Kimara holds his jacket apart a bit to run her hands down his chest.  

Erik bites his lip nodding.  “Now that’s more like it.”

“Shut up!  I’m just in awe!  You weren’t scrawny for real but not nearly this buff!  What kind of undershirt you got on, you feel bumpy.”  Kimara puls at the collar of his shirt, but Erik swipes her hand away.  

“Uh uh, you gotta earn the show.  Cash upfront.”  Erik jokes, putting his hands in his pockets.  “You look good too, real….real good.  Gettin them squats in huh?”  Erik stands on his toes to look around her backside but Kimara steps sideways.  

“Here you go!  Go on!  I don’t see you for two years and you drop yourself here for what?  Are you back for good?”  Kimara picks her keys up, going to her front door to open it.

“I’m just here to talk, hang out.  I needed a place to lay my head, so I figured I could get two birds with one stone.”  Erik walks in behind her, closing the door.  

Kimara takes off her jacket and sets her bag down.  “That’s fine.  You welcome here.  You gotta tell me how things went!  I know you went to Japan at first, but I didn’t get a letter from you after that, I got kind of worried…”

Erik told Kimara about his time in Japan; he was only there a few weeks before he was selected for Special Ops training, which gave him the physique.  Most of the rest of his missions were confidential, but the orders he was given were implied.  

When he showed his scars and the meaning behind them, Kimara just about lost it.

“How can you mark yourself up like that?!  The memories aren’t enough to live with?  You have to see them on yourself everyday you look in the mirror?”

“Might as well!  I see it when I wake up, when I sleep!  In a way, this is therapy for me, makes me feel like what I did wasn’t for nothing!”

Kimara paces the floor agitated beyond compare.  “Why would you hurt yourself like that?  Haven’t you been through enough to make these permanent changes to yourself?  I still can’t believe the day you signed up for that damn program.  The details were shaky at best.  But the Navy was more important to you than what I thought.”

Erik scoffs.  “This wasn’t about you to begin with.  We didn’t have anything to fight for.  You’re my friend, I had plenty of those.  You think you’re the only one that told me to fall back from it?  Huh?  This gave me purpose, it gave me a vision for my future, something I ain’t had EVER.”

Kimara looked at Erik with disgust.  “You’re a damn dumbass.”

Erik cocked an eyebrow.  “You better be glad I know you like that, I don't let anybody talk to me like that no more.”

Kimara stands her ground with him.  He really forgot who she was.  “I ain't scared of you Erik! You forget that I've known you for years now, I'm not just somebody off the street! I've seen you stressed out for exams, I've seen you dealing with people giving you a hard time for being on scholarship, hell US cuz we Black and they didn't believe us! I get that every year on your father's death date, you get extra distant but you let me in to your little rituals to honor him.  That Wakandan chant you'd do? I still know it by heart, hell I said it for you!”

Erik looked at Kimara angrily but not because she was wrong.  “Stop talkin bout that shit.”

Kimara steps to him.  “What you think you hard now?  You think you got everyone figured out, you so damn smart??  But you won’t even let yourself FEEL shit no more, is that what your big plan is?  Shooting people up and taking their things, like that’s ever worked for anybody.”

Erik snarls.  “Except it has, and I have no problem sending it right back to people.”

Kimara points to the door.  “Get the fuck outta my house Erik.  I didn’t ask for this bullshit in my face.”

Erik turns his chin up at her. “So you done with me now?  Now is when you wanna throw me out?  I knew you wasn’t worried about me anyway.”  As Erik turned away, Kimara pushes his back to get him to the door quicker.

“You fucking bastard!  I wasted my fucking time thinking about you!  You can’t get outta your own damn head to realize who cares about you!”

Erik reaches for the doorknob, standing there a moment listening to her wail.  

“You could’ve been great here with me!  I don’t give a damn how tough you think you are, you aren’t this.”

Kimara grows weak from yelling, crumpling to the floor sobbing.  Erik crouches down to her quicker than he meant to.  It was instinctual more than anything.  “Come on now…”

She holds her hands up.  “No!  You don’t get it.  Whatever those people told you over there isn’t true.  You aren’t more of a man for doing this shit, for scarring yourself up, for not caring.  You’re not human!  You’re not yourself!”

Erik freezes when she says this, something finally clicked in him with what she said.  Erik apologizes softly, but Kimara was tired.  Tired of crying, tired of fighting, she just wanted her friend, she wanted to be happy and for him to be safe and happy too.  Erik just held her in his arms, allowing himself to feel like she kept reminding him to.  It hurt worse than getting the scars did and when he broke, Kimara was glad.  Looking into his face she finally saw the Erik she always knew, the one that she wanted so much from.  The world didn’t trample his soul that day, or any day for the next few weeks following.

Kimara allowed Erik in her heart, something she always fought with herself over because they were such good friends and Erik wasn’t the first person she would assume wanting to settle down.  But when he looked at her it seemed so genuine, so pure she couldn’t help but fall into him.  And that's what she was kicking herself over on that couch a month later, sore and opening a bottle of pills.

Present Day

When Kimara left the studio, she tried calling Erik but didn’t get an answer.   Instead she got a generic text saying he would call her later, in a meeting.

She rolls her eyes and decides to go check on his cousin at the community center.  He’s helped Erik through a whole helluva lot of bullshit before so maybe he could listen to hers.

The state of the art facility was amazing to see given what it used to be.  Old apartments where crime and drugs ran rampant, now it looked like something you would see downtown in the upscale neighborhoods.  

When she got inside, it didn’t take long for her to find T’Challa, crouched and talking to a small child standing next to their mother.  The child gives him a hug, which he took genuinely and that’s when he sees Kimara.

“Janae, I will see you next week to work on your long division, ok?”  He points to her, thanking her mother at the same time before heading over to Kimara.

“Hello!  How are you?”  He says to Kimara warmly.

Kimara bounces on her toes.  “I’m good T’Challa, you?”  They share a church hug.  Kimara is so happy she can call T’Challa family, without him, Erik wouldn’t even be there.

T’Challa sighs heavily, putting his hands behind his back.  “I’ve been better.  I’ve been drowning in chamomile tea and crackers to settle my stomach.  American alcohol is horrendous.”

Kimara laughs.  “Oh yeah, Erik took you out on the town.  Did you have fun at least?”

T’Challa half shrugs, smirking.  “It was successful for what the goal was.  I met with a young lady there and we may have hit it off.  I haven’t contacted her about it yet.”

Kimara’s jaw drops.  “Whaaat?  You playin with women’s heart now T?  I never thought of you as the type.”

T’Challa stutters a bit to find his words.  “It wasn’t really….well, Erik just wanted to cheer me up for me and Nakia not being on the best of terms, so-”

“Yeah, that’s how he was in college.  One girl doesn’t stop his show.”  Kimara rests her hand on the back of her neck, playing with her curls knotting at the nape.

T’Challa looks away, visibly uncomfortable.  “But I do intend to call her back, I just don’t want to appear too eager and things.”

Kimara pokes her bottom lip out, bucking her round brown eyes at him.  “Aww, now don’t go soft on account of me.  I know how guys are, so lemme stop asking about your love life.  However, if it ever becomes official, feel free to invite her to hang with us.  We can make a double date of it.”

T’Challa nods, smiling humbly.  “Of course, that would be delightful.  I am glad you stopped by actually, I imagine you’re looking for this anyway.”  T’Challa turns on his heels, the tails of his jacket picking up with a flourishing wave as he clicks down the hallway.

Kimara follows behind him confused.  “What are you talking about?”

Walking down the halls decorated with projects and works tagged with an ‘A+’ or 100% mark whizzed past them as they approached his office.  Opening the doors to his office, his footsteps muffle against the lush carpet to retrieve something out of his desk.

He pulls out a burlap pouch to hand to Kimara proudly.  “There.  Erik is pretty eager to get started on that regimen so you guys can….have at it!”  T’Challa gestures awkwardly shaking his hands about in front of him.

Kimara screws her face up looking from T’Challa to the bag.  “But I still don’t….OH!  He actually asked you about some erectile, baby juice making bull from you?”

T’Challa’s eyes widen.  “You and him never stray much from details, eh?”

Kimara opens the drawstring of the bag.  “I’m sorry, I just don’t….what is the shit, T?”  Kimara pulls out dried leaves and herbs from the pouch.

T’Challa tuts at her.  “Aye aye, put it back!  He is supposed to boil some water and put that in a cup and drink it.  It’s just a mix of common teas and spices, more of a placebo than a real cure.”

Kimara sighs, closing the bag up and placing a hand on her hip.  “So I guess Erik really does wanna have this baby.”  She murmur to herself.

T’Challa comes around the front of the desk, leaning against it.  “Were you having second thoughts?”

She shakes her head fervently.  “No, I want to be a mother more than anything right now which….may be part of our problem.  I’m forgetting how to be his partner.  We got into a bit of a thing when he had his appointment today.  He keeps saying I should slow down with the baby making regimen, and I thought for a second he wasn’t taking things seriously.”

T’Challa gives an empathetic glance, crossing his arms thoughtfully.  “Excuse me in advance if I’m getting too personal but Erik has told me only a few things, so I’m not unaware.  But I know that Erik has your interests in his heart.  He knows this is important to you and it is equally important to him.  However, he doesn’t do well with rules and regulation.  He likes to make things happen and if it works great, if not, move on to something new.  And maybe this is his way of moving on to a new method.  But it sounds like he wants to take pressure off of you,  like with this herbal method.”

Kimara looks at the bag in her hand, feeling herself relax as she held onto it tightly.  “I think you’re right.  He’s been getting on my nerves with it but I think he’s just trying to show he cares.”

T’Challa nods.  “He does, I’m certain of it.”

Kimara gives T’Challa a grateful hug.  “Thank you so much!  I’m gonna take this to him.  Thanks for your help, I knew I would get what I needed coming to you.”

T’Challa gives her a soft pat on the back before breaking the embrace.  “Anytime.  You guys are a great pair, he’s lucky to have you.”

“You too.  He’s come so far because of...because of you.  So even though these are dud teas, it may make things a little more hopeful, who knows.”

T’Challa clutches his chest, looking hurt.  “Dud teas?  I will tell you those are delicious and very relaxing, if nothing else!  Fresh import from Wakandan gardens of the royal palace-”

Kimara yawns.  “Yeah yeah, I gotta go home now.  Tell Shuri I said hello, and if Nakia give you any trouble…”  Kimara boxes the air with weak punches.

T’Challa walks her out giving final goodbyes before making her way home to the man of her life.  

Walking into their place, Kimara finds Erik sitting on the couch playing 2K.  

“I’m home!”  Kimara calls out, kicking off her shoes and jacket.  Erik presses a combination of buttons on his controller, grunting as he misses his shot at the basket over and over, losing to the computer.

Kimara climbs over the back of the couch, laying her calves over his chest, warming his neck with her serried thighs.  “Erik…”  she whines.

Erik remains unconcerned with her presence.  “Come on, I’m almost done with this quarter, don’t fuck it up.”

Kimara plays with his head, pushing it side to side before resting her breasts on top of him.  “Are you still mad at me?”  

“When did I say I was mad at you?  I thought you were mad at me?”  Erik says, still focused on the game until a loud buzzer makes Kimara jump and Erik tosses the controller on the table in defeat.  

“I’m not mad, I was just...upset and assuming shit.”  Kimara says softly, massaging his scalp.  She feels his shoulders relax under her legs as he strokes them.

“So what problems you tryna work through still?”  Erik says deadpan.

“None!  We don’t have any.”  Kimara says sweetly, feeling hands along his face to scratch his beard.  “T’Challa gave me his little love potion stuff…”  She dangles the bag in front of his face.

Erik takes it, staring at it in his hands.  “Aight, just let me know what time you want me to take this and I’ll be on the way to the bedroom.”

Kimara swings her leg around to slide beside him holding on to his arm.  “Erik, you ain’t gotta worry about that!”

Erik looks so tired, looking at Kimara wearily.  “I don’t wanna be a reason you feel like you can’t get pregnant.  I know you think I’m being childish sometimes but I want a kid just like you.  This ain’t been good for us though, how we doin it.”

“I know,”  Kimara says, resting her chin on his shoulder.  

“And soon as those results from the lab come back, we can talk about other shit, but right now, I got you and I’m good with that.”

Kimara’s heart pounds in her chest, what a lovely man he can be.  “You’re the fucking sweetest.”

“So don’t be looking at your phone in bed with that tracker, don’t just fuck me without tryna be sexy about it, and don’t down my manhood in the heat of your anger.”

Kimara rubs his chest.  “That was bad of me.”

“Damn right it was.  Cuz that ain’t no fucking problem.”

Kimara shakes her head.  “Never.”

“I know faking, and THAT ain’t it.”

“It’s impossible for me to fake THAT.”  Kimara says, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.

“So as a man and as your man, lemme take care of what I gotta do on my own terms.  You just keep being cute and fine and smart as you always acting.”

Kimara lays her head across his lap looking up at him.  “Never an act babe, I’m all those things and more.  Including hungry.”

Erik plays in her wild fro with one hand, the other resting at the base of her throat.  “What am I supposed to do about that?  You ain’t got hands to dial delivery?”

“Erik!  I know you got something in that kitchen, I smelt in soon as I walked in.”

“Yeah, for ME.  This a every man for himself house, Ma, you know that.”

“Pleeeease.”  Kimara widens her eyes a bit for good measure.

Erik smirks.  “You better quit all that for I poke your eye out.”

Kimara scoffs, smacking his stomach as she gets up to look in the oven and pull out a brown paper bag with two containers of penne pasta slathered in marinara meat sauce and melty cheese with the crispy crunchy bread she loves so much.

“You were gonna eat two by yourself, huh?”  Kimara quips.

“I can eat a lot more than that, so don’t try me.”  Erik calls across the room.

Kimara gets her serving out and practically skips back to the couch to enjoy and watch Erik play his game.  Except he still had it on pause.  

“So you couldn’t bring mine back witchu?”  He asks, voice raising an octave.

Kimara slurps up a stray string of cheese off her fork.  “Erik, seriously?  I just got in!”

Erik kisses his teeth.  “Ok, lemme have a bite of yours.”

“Uh uh!  Get your lazy self up and get your own!”  Kimara kicks her feet up at him, scarfing another bite.

Erik doesn’t take no for an answer, pushing her legs to one side pinning her.  “Gimme some!”

“No!  You’re gonna make me drop it!”  Kimara squeals, barely holding onto the aluminum container.

Erik just opens his mouth open coming closer and closer to her face.  “You gonna spit on me, close your mouth!”  

Erik guides his mouth to her fork and she hesitantly puts it in his mouth.  He dramatically pauses to savor the flavor, chewing slowly.  “Mm!  Damn that’s good.”

Kimara rolls her eyes.  “Can you get off me now?”

Erik nods, swallowing.  “Yeah, just lemme have some bread and-”

“NIGGA IF YOU DON’T GO!”  Kimara squirming under him.  

Erik takes the container from her hand setting it on the table.  “Chill I gotta digest now.”  Erik proceeds to open her legs up laying his head against her chest, snuggling in her womanly comforts.  Kimara is lowkey seething when all she wants is some damn dinner, but in reality it had been a while since they had been this playful with each other.  Putting her needs aside, she takes the time to enjoy his weight on her, his heartbeat on her stomach, the warmth in between her.  

“Sing me somethin.”  He mumbles in her titties.  

That night and every night following for the next two weeks were grand.  Kimara hadn’t felt that kind of love for Erik in a length of time she would be embarrassed to admit.  It felt like they were dating all over again and she would’ve loved for that to have stayed that way, but then his results came back and her worries erupted all over again.

Part 4

Masterlist

Ragtag

@chaneajoyyy @sarcastic-sunshines @muse-of-mbaku@dameshaemonique  @fonville-designs @destinio1@bakarisangel @wakanda-inspired @klaine15689 @savageiz @nickidub718 @yoyolovesbucky

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

My thoughts on: 4x01 “American Alien”

There is a lot to unpack in this episode. I loved all of it, and it successfully sets up the season the writers want to have this season. I only have 2 big criticisms. Let’s start with the biggest: Kara’s mentorship.

We have not seen Kara become star reporter. Period.

She struggled in Season 2 under Snapper Carr, and simply wasn’t a reporter in Season 3. At all. So I’m going to need more than a thirty second montage for Kara’s success to feel organic. Especially when we don’t even get to see the hard-hitting question she gets praised for when she and James are back at CatCo.

I’m glad she has her life together. It’s good to see her happy and confident again. I just need to see her doing it more in order for the whole mentor/mentee development to feel more organic. (I actually have a SUPER easy fix for that too, which I’ll explore in a separate post.)

My only other gripe is Lena. Not her decision to go to the DA and leverage them out of prosecuting James. That was 100% in character. What I don’t like is that she did it behind James’ back and didn’t tell him about it. After the amazing groundwork they laid in Season 3b, I expected her to do it anyway and then tell him after the fact. I expected them to even fight about it. 

The fact that she didn’t undoes the trust they built last season, and sets the stage for a horrendous fallout later on this season. I was really in love with their standard of relationship, and the way they both ascribed to mutual honesty. I don’t like that Lena was the one to break it, because she has always been about honesty and transparency.

Side Notes:

- I loved seeing a glimpse of polyglot!Kara. But maybe give us viewers some subtitles? Because even after a rewatch I’m not entirely sure whether that russian woman offered that vodka to Supergirl, or if Kara just stole that lady’s Smirnoff.

- Can I be Alex when I grow up? Please?

- I was really hoping we’d see Lena and James apartment hunting together, but no... that was just the redesign of Cat’s office. (and yes, I got a little teary eyed that we lost just a little more of Cat’s touch).

- THE GUEST STARS: Vicky from The Good Place, and Nigel FREAKING Griffin from Sanctuary, the invisible man himself! And Brenda Strong, the crown jewel of guest stars. I love love LOVE her. Pretty sure my neighbors heard me squealing about Mama Luthor.

- Fun fact: the first time I watched this episode, in the scene where the Graves are first speaking with Agent Liberty, I didn’t realize it was actually him? I thought they were just staring at a suit of armor? It didn’t click that the ominous male voice of Liberty speaking wasn’t the male Graves. So, that was an interesting development on the rewatch...

- Y’all can pry my love for Nia Nal from my cold dead fingers. Fuck anyone who doesn’t like her (I have yet to meet one, but if I do, ho boyyyyy, you better leave my girl alone).

- Can we talk about the difference in Lena’s voice when she’s talking to someone she doesn’t trust? Her mother, Supergirl... her voice was smooth, seamless. With James and Kara, she sounds warmer and a tad more gravelly. 

- SHOW ME ALEX DATING. SHOW ME SHOW ME SHOW ME

- Is doppelganger!kara pounding rocks by choice or is she forced labor? I need to know, for reasons

[mayhembunnywrites]

Healing Hands

Pt. 1 to a subseries following the Heart series, found on my masterlist

It has been a day since Ducky had last seen his daughter, four hours since Isaac was asked about her whereabouts by a concerned Tori, an hour since King had been called by a frantic Karen as she searched for Brenda.

The team of dads had conferred with one another when they realized that their daughter was missing, both Isaac and King mentioning it to Ducky in passing.

Ducky’s first reaction had been to call Saab and ask if he had known where Brenda was. A heavy sigh had left Saab’s mouth at the question, Ducky’s eyes narrowing with the ominous response.

“What did you do?” Ducky asked in an impatient tone, his anger rising and clear to hear in his voice, “Where is my daughter?”

Saab’s gulp was audible, a guilty silence seeming to fill the pregnant pause as Ducky quickly lost his patience, his voice growing more quiet and his tone sending a chill down Saab’s spine as he spoke in an ominous tone.

“Tell me, now,” Ducky said.

Saab slowly started speaking, voice wavering with nerves. “I-I did something really stupid,” he said with a guilt ridden tone.

“You didn’t,” Ducky said with an angry tone, shock and denial coming through in equal measure. He quickly hung up, running the short distance from the empty hospital rooftop to Brenda’s apartment, not noticing as King and Isaac joined him, concerned expressions on their faces.

He stopped in front of her door, taking his keys in steady hands and unlocking the door with the spare key that had been given to him.

“Just in case,” Brenda had said with a happy smile, a smile he hadn’t seen in a few weeks. He had noticed, along with the other dads, when Brenda had absorbed herself in her work, his questions about her dates with Saab going unanswered as she immediately looked away, a sad and drawn look settling onto her face as she simply shook her head and walked away.

Isaac and King had noticed her overworking herself, Brenda even getting sick and working through her illness with a mask covering her nose and mouth, a pair of latex gloves over her small hands.

They had been worried when receiving the calls of Brenda’s absence, even if they didn’t see her for a day then her friends normally would. Their concern had only grown when seeing Ducksworth run past them, an increasingly concerned and angry expression on his face as he rushed towards Integrity without sparing either of them a glance.

King and Isaac had simply looked at each other, a heavy feeling in their guts as they followed him to Brenda’s apartment door.

Isaac’s first reaction to seeing Brenda’s once-tidy apartment was to wrinkle his nose at the smell. The smell of alcohol was prominent in the apartment and it was clear why once he walked in with the other dads.

“What the fuck,” King whispered as his eyes travelled over the spacious apartment as they walked towards the kitchenette.

They never expected the sight before them, horror settling over all of their faces as they stood frozen in the archway. Alcohol bottles littered the floor, a crumpled figure laying between the empty glass bottles catching them off guard.

“Brenda?” whispers a horrified Ducky, his body almost automatically moving to kneel down next to the girl he refers to as his daughter, the girl he holds precious and close to his heart.

He hesitantly reaches forward, gently pushing the hair back from her face.

“Brenda…?” he asks with a catch in his voice, catching himself as he almost falls over in shock at the sight of her tear-streaked face, marred by blurred make-up and puffy eyes.

Isaac is the next to approach, his years of experience coming into play as he withholds a gasp at the sight of Brenda, her skin pale and her body unusually still. Her shaky breaths were the only sign of life, the three doctors taking comfort in the fact that she was still breathing.

“Brenda, sweetheart?” asks King as he approaches without a second thought, his brow furrowing in concern as he reaches past Isaac and Ducky to gently touch her shoulder.

It’s only then that Brenda stirs, her puffy red eyes looking up at her pseudo fathers with confusion.

“Brenda, what happened?” asks King with a concerned tone of voice, his hand still resting on her shoulder as he crouches beside her.

It’s only a moment after the question that Brenda begins to cry, tears pouring down her face and dry, painful sounding sobs emerging from her petite form as she curls into a small ball on the floor, pulling away from King’s hand as she starts shaking. Her small form makes for a sad picture, the typically energetic girl sobbing in a heap on her kitchen floor, the cold tile leaving marks on her skin as she lays there.

Ducky reaches forward hesitantly, rubbing Brenda’s back with a paternal hand as his concern grows for his daughter. He’s shocked when Brenda sits up with obvious effort, collapsing with her head on his lap as she begins to cry harder, painful sounding sobs coming from her raspy and obviously dry throat.

Isaac’s concern grows as a few minutes pass, Brenda’s heaving figure a shock to the normally emotionless man. She had been his weak spot since the first time she told him that she thought of him like a father, his face normally turning into a small smile whenever he thinks of the precious moment in time.

At the moment his only thoughts were of Brenda, his once-happy daughter clearly broken down and feeling defeated.

King reaches out to run his hands through Brenda’s hair in comfort, ignoring the smell of the alcohol in his concern. His anger grows quickly, along with his concern, for the girl that they all consider their daughter. His voice comes out with a dangerous edge as he speaks, his accent thicker than normal with his heightened emotions.

“Brenda,” he speaks with a harsh edge to his normally soft tone, “What happened?”

Brenda sits up with a heavy heart, looking at Kai with a sad expression as she shakes her head, the tears stopping even as she stops sobbing, having cried so much that she ran out of tears.

It’s with a resigned sigh that Isaac silently stands, getting a bottle of water from the fridge and opening it for Brenda, holding it out to her without another word.

Brenda reaches out with a trembling hand, grasping the bottle of water and hesitantly bringing it to her lips, taking a small sip that makes her cough as she chokes on it.

The air is hard for her to breathe, her labored breaths audible. Her eyes are dry despite her recent tears, the weight in her stomach making it hard to move as she leans against the counter behind her, hugging herself as she closes her eyes, wishing she was simply dreaming.

Ducky speaks to Brenda in a gentle tone of voice, sadness audible as he speaks. “Brenda, honey, what’s wrong?”

Brenda lifts her head, averting her gaze from her fathers as she takes a sip of cold water, the normally refreshing liquid burning like sandpaper down her raw throat.

She takes a deep and shaky breath before she speaks, her shaky and raspy voice taking her fathers aback. “It’s Saab--” she says before her breath catches, her hushed voice full of clear denial as she tries to avoid the truth.

“What about Saab, honey?” asks Ducky with a gentle and concerned tone of voice, laying a strong and comforting hand on her shoulder. “Did something happen?”

“Brenda, sweetheart,” Kai says with a thickened accent, a hand still absently running through her hair in a comforting gesture, “What’s wrong? Please talk to us.” Worry is evident in his voice as he speaks, his breath catching in his throat as seconds pass without an answer, her head hanging once more, Brenda drawing her knees to her chest in an attempt to hide her pained expression.

Isaac’s voice is full of rage and concern as he speaks in a louder tone than normal, his normally gentle tone cutting the air like a knife. “Brenda,” he says sternly, making Brenda flinch as she looks up at Isaac with widened eyes, “What’s happened?”

Brenda takes another sip of water as she tries to avoid answering, a stern glare from Isaac finally drawing an answer from her.

“Saab and Erin-” she tries to speak, her hand shaking before she puts down the bottle of water, her voice caught in her throat.

Ducky’s eyes narrow as his fists clench for a moment, anger appearing in his expression. “Did he cheat on you, Brenda?” he asks bluntly, his expression turning stone cold with her nod of affirmation.

“Fuck,” says King as he removes his hand from Brenda’s hair, quickly getting up and clenching his fists in anger. The very thought was shocking to him, he had noticed Brenda drawing back into her shell but he hadn't expected this to be the reason for it.

Isaac’s face turned into an emotionless mask at her confirmation of the situation before he puts on a neutral mask, walking over to King and laying a hand on his shoulder before withdrawing it quickly and walking back over to Brenda’s side, holding out a hand.

Brenda looks at the offered hand with sad eyes, taking it with a shaky and weak grip. Ducky takes her other hand, supporting her with a hand behind her back as she stands up.

Her legs are weak and shaky, Brenda collapsing into Isaac’s arms with the strength of a fawn as she trembles. Isaac’s eyes widen in shock for a moment before his eyes close, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her as she leans onto him.

With the support of her dads, Brenda makes her way to her bedroom. They lead her step by step with gentle hands, catching her whenever she falters. They help her sit on her bed before King and Isaac split up, Isaac grabbing the make-up removing wipes from her bathroom while King rustles through her dresser carefully, pulling out a pair of pajamas for her and placing them on the bed beside her.

Ducky sits in front of her with dark eyes, concerned for her as he holds her hand with a gentle but firm grip. He gives her hand a squeeze once the wipes and pajamas are laid next to her, the men shuffling out with concerned glances directed towards Brenda as they leave her to get dressed.

After closing the bedroom door, Ducky meets the gazes of Kai and Isaac with a calm rage burning in his eyes. “We need to take care of her, then we can handle him.”

The quiet words cause the other doctors to nod, grim expressions on their faces at the truth, all three doctors knowing what has to occur.

All of them know that Brenda is their first priority. Her health, her safety, is important to all of them, but they had warned Saab about what would happen if he did something like this.

The door creaks open to reveal Brenda with a bare face, dressed in her pajamas with tear-filled eyes as she looks at the three men who would protect her with their lives, their expressions turning soft as they look at their daughter and all move to comfort her, Kai reaching out to bring her into a comforting hug as her tears fall once more.

Kai presses a soft kiss to the top of Brenda’s head before looking at the other men, a cold and rage-filled expression taking over his face as she weakly wraps her arms around his waist, her thin arms shaking as she tries to hold him in return.

His expression turns soft once more as he looks down at the girl in his arms, choosing to focus on her rather than his rage.

All three men know that they want to kill Al Saab, make him pay for what he has done, but first they have to make sure that Brenda is alright. All three men focus on Brenda for the moment, helping her back to bed and tucking her in, Ducky sitting next to her and simply holding her hand as Kai and Isaac watch from two chairs they dragged into the room.

Brenda will have to face the music tomorrow, she knows, but she already feels better in the presence of the people that she knows, instinctively, will never betray her like Saab did. With healing hands and time, she will be better. She falls into a dreamless sleep with an aching heart, surrounded by people who love her.

Pt 1. of the Heart Series The Next Part | 8/30

[danganronpa-hopes-final-stand]

Prologue - A Wonderland of Despair! [19: A Sliver of Hope]

“I…don't think I like this much…”

“What the hell kind of understatement is that?! This entire thing is totally fucked!”

“He…He can’t possibly get away with such an act!”

“Trust me when I say that no one is ever going to come to look for the likes of you. We’ll be playing this little game for as long as I want…”

Monotwoma’s ominous words stayed with us as the lights flash on again. Everyone had to adjust to the suddenness of the lights except me. So I could see as he hopped into an opening in the floor and disappeared. I had a feeling it wouldn’t open again even if we tried.

“…so…that’s it then, huh..? Trapped in this school…being told to kill each other…is that our life now..?”

“Hell, no! I’m finding a way out of here goddamnit!”

With a turn, Machiko stormed out of the room and back into the hallway. I don’t think she was going to find an exit there, but I also didn’t want to be the one to tell her that.

“There’ll be hell to pay if Gary has anything to say about it!”

And then he too made his leave.

It wasn’t long before the entire group was trickling out of the room, either with their own words of defiance or in total silence as they absorbed the situation. It wasn’t long until only three of us remained.

“This is certainly a cumbersome predicament.”

“Are we really just…stuck here now? Are people going to begin dying?”

“I…I don’t know…but we can’t just sit here and think about it. There…has to be something we can do, right?”

“Chipper up, comrades. Dwelling on such thoughts will surely leave us vulnerable to this game. Instead, we should focus on a plan.”

“Well...maybe we can try to get everyone to get along...if we’re all friends, we won’t want to kill each other.”

“Kas, I don’t know if...” Brenda pauses for a moment. She seems unsure of what to say.

“No, Trisha is right. We shouldn’t dwell in such nasty thoughts. We should work on a plan of some sort to decide what sort of group activities we can come up with to instill a sense of peace and friendship. That’ll show that nasty bear!”

“Then we have to work on this as soon as possible!”

Maybe...we didn’t have to let despair win. If we all just kept our chins up and did our best, I’m sure we would all come out of this just fine! How hard can that be? Prologue - A Wonderland of Despair: END!

17 remain.

[PREVIOUS]

[NEXT] 

[BEGINNING OF CHAPTER]

[brido]

An Attempt to Appreciate 2Pac (Part 1/4): 2Pacalypse Now

I never got in to 2Pac. There, I said it. He just never did anything for me. There were songs I liked. But the mythical status he’s been given by the general public has always been lost on me. So in lieu of his posthumous induction into the Rock N’ Roll Hall of Fame, I thought I’d given it another shot. Here’s part 1: 2Pacalyspe Now.  

The year is 1991. The Cold War has ended, George H.W. Bush is the president. And a twenty-year-old Tupac Shakur is bragging about being down with Digital Underground. Every artist needs to start somewhere. For Pac, that start was 2Pacalyspe Now, a surprisingly-political, surprisingly non-commercial debut offering with glimpses of brilliance interspersed into an otherwise forgetful and mediocre album.

To be fair, the man wasn’t given a lot to work with. After-the-fact reviews of the album are right to point out that the beats feel dated. But in most cases, what they really feel like is the musical equivalent of clip art, fished from the bottom of the rejection bin at his studio labeled ‘Rap Music.’ If we use the song “Something Wicked” as an example, the Macbeth-inspired hook should probably sound darker and more ominous. Particularly since they took the time to insert a monster sound at the end of the track. But instead it feels, musically, like Pac is surrounded by gently popping soap bubbles. It just doesn’t match. To the point that just makes me wonder if anyone besides 2Pac really gave a shit.

The most egregious example of musical/lyrical disunity is probably “Words of Wisdom”. I mean, holy shit. The song is about an historical, unconstitutional, government-sponsored oppression of the black community tantamount to racial genocide - the response to which, he suggests, should be education and liberation through armed insurgency… And it’s all presented over the music bed of the most neutered sections of Herbie Hancock’s “Chameleon” - fucking upbeat elevator music, the soundtrack to any revolution. You know, Light Jazz Against the Machine.

Like I said, none of that is necessarily his fault. There are times (namely “Trapped” and “Violent”, which I liked) when his abilities and diversity of styles rise above the general shitty-ness and unintentional juxtaposition of the music. And since rappers like Nas, Eminem and Talib Kweli site this record as an inspiration, it does have its redeeming qualities. And when 2Pac stands out (at least on here) it is definitely in his storytelling abilities.  

“Brenda’s Got a Baby” is easily the most memorable and timeless song on the album. With no hook to speak of, 2Pac laid down one of the most tragic stories in musical history - the audio equivalent of the saddest moments in the movie, Precious. Speaking of which, Angelique’s verse on “Part Time Mutha” is so similar to the plot of Precious that either Sapphire found inspiration from the song to write her novel (unlikely) or the world is a horrible and depressing place (fuck). I don’t know if I can hear Stevie Wonder’s peppy original quite the same way ever again. 

And to his credit, 2Pac definitely doesn’t shy away from going there. The songs touch on over-incarceration, inner-city poverty, the crack epidemic, black on black crime, racism and police brutality. Oh, there’s a whole lot of songs about violent retribution for police brutality. So much so that the album gained a fair share of controversy when a man in Texas shot a state trooper and his defense attorney blamed the album for the man’s actions, sparking Dan Quayle to say 2Pacalypse Now had “no place in our society.”  

2Pac’s overall message was coming from a post-N.W.A., post-Rodney-King (but pre-L.A.-riots) world. And if he can be accused of heavy handedness or derivation from Ice Cube or Public Enemy or KRS-One, at least his finger was on the pulse of the inner cities and he was speaking truth to power. It’s not like his upbringing in a Black Panther family didn’t add to the credibility of his political convictions and his militancy.    

I think the end result for this album is a sense of unlocked potential. 2Pac proved he could do his own version of Cube or Chuck D. And he proved he could teleport you into the crime-and-drug infested world of the early-90’s inner-cities with the power of his storytelling. The question at this point is just whether somebody can get this guy a fucking beat?